


Driving me crazy

by gonattsaga



Category: Ocean's (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Brotherhood, Coming Out, Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, First Time, Humor, M/M, Twincest, UST
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-05-09
Updated: 2011-07-11
Packaged: 2017-10-19 05:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 37,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonattsaga/pseuds/gonattsaga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were never the best of friends, they never really even got along, but they are brothers, twin brothers even, and they’ve gone through everything together since the day they were born. It’s not good or bad, it just is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Child games

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place during all three movies and then continues post!Ocean's Thirteen. It starts off Gen, but moves towards Slash, which means (tw)incest, so be warned.

Virgil fingers the remote control and squares his shoulders as he squints up at his brother. His pulse is already quickening, fingertips are tingling. And it takes all of his self-control not to jump up and down in anticipation. Something about the toy car and the racing, he just feels ten years old again. And watching Turk get more and more restless, that just adds to the fun of it.

“Waiting, sweetheart, just waiting”, Turk says.

Virgil tries not to blow the whole thing by laughing too much already and plays dumb.

“Yeah? Go!”

“Waiting for you-”

“What do you want?-”

“Go, little girl- you’re like a little girl!”

Virgil chuckles. Yeah, Turk calling him a little girl, that’s something he’s never done before. Turk’s called him a girl their entire lives. He’s also called him weak, and stupid, and a whole bunch of other things. When they were in primary he even had a gang of cronies mobilized against him for a while, so every recess Virgil was met by a whole choir calling him Virginia, which they all thought was the most clever insult ever and laughed hysterically every time Virgil ignored them. But then every time he ignored them Turk would run after him and wrestle him to the ground, so that could have something to do with the hysteria as well.

Anyway, that was when he still had cronies that looked up to him. By the time they reached 5th grade only little kids looked up to him, at least literally, and Virgil figured that made it all worth it.

“Now who’s little!” he’d shouted the day he was officially declared taller than his brother.

Turk had sulked for a good hour after that, but then he decided that Virgil was still a girl, so it was okay, and he kept teasing him at school, and at home, and he even extended his vocabulary with words like ‘pussy’, and ‘sissy’, and ‘prima donna’, and ‘faggot’. Once in a while he even resorted to the old nickname Virginia, but he never called him ‘Sweetheart’ with other people around. That was like the special insult, like it had some actual affection attached to it, which Virgil seriously doubted, probably Turk was just being cautious around some of the idiots they hung out with, in case they read too much into the nickname and started teasing him for using it. Although at that point none of their friends usually bothered to tease either one of them, considering they did such a good job of it themselves.

“Just relax”, he tells him now, knowing how much it will aggravate him.

Virgil bites down on his lip to stop himself from exploding with laughter when Turk starts raving, but sensing that his brother is on the breaking point and this close to abandoning the whole race idea, he composes himself.

“I can do this all day, don’t make me- I’m gonna get out of the car and drop you like third-period French-!”

“Relax”, Virgil shouts and presses the acceleration button on the control.

His car speeds off down the race track. A second later Turk is on its heel with the real thing, stepping on the gas for dear life and still they’re tied. Virgil whoops and laughs, pressing the acceleration button harder, even though it won’t do anything, the car already driving at top speed. He can picture Turk’s face, surprise and agitation all mingled together. He probably didn’t think Virgil could actually trim the motor so it’d stand a chance against his monstrosity of a vehicle, let alone beat it-

Virgil’s laugh does a u-turn and he immediately shuts up, as he stares at what used to be his car, now in pieces on the track, and Turk swerving almost gleefully before driving away from it.

Virgil takes a deep breath through his nose and pushes the control’s antenna down. He shouldn’t be surprised. He isn’t surprised.

He almost thinks he can hear Turk’s ridiculous laugh from the car, but he’s probably just imagining it.

Stupid bastard always was a sore loser, he thinks.

Like that time in 3rd grade when they were playing doubles with Mike and Brendan by the basket ball hoop in the school yard and Virgil snaked his arms around Turk and almost got the ball from him, until Turk elbowed him in the stomach. And then, after having got the ball through the hoop, he wrestled him to the ground and sat on him until he admitted to being a girl - which Virgil did, but with his fingers crossed - and then Turk had the nerve to ruffle his hair.

“Get off me!” Virgil had shouted as Turk scrambled off him, laughing.

Virgil had rubbed a hand over his abdomen where Turk’s elbow had struck him. It’d really hurt, and he remembers thinking he wouldn’t be surprised if he got a bruise - which he did.

Funnily enough, when Mike got him in a head lock a moment later and started to twist and turn and pull on his neck so that he could barely breathe, Turk had walked up to them and punched Mike in the face, broke his nose and all. Virgil remembers losing his footing and falling on his butt - which also got bruised - when Mike let go of him and he remembers holding a hand up to his neck, protectively, like someone had just tried to strangle him.

And as he was catching his breath, he caught Turk’s eye. Turk had this steely look, Virgil doesn’t remember seeing that look on him again, and he definitely hadn’t seen it before then, he looked quite scary. And just like that, he spun on his heel and started to walk away, no explanation, nothing, not then, not ever.

Virgil had felt light. Like he wasn’t in his own body entirely. And he’d looked over at Mike and Brendan; Mike was holding his nose with both hands and crying, blood was seeping through his fingers and running down his arms and getting soaked up by his shirt sleeves. Brendan was hovering near him, fidgeting in almost panic, wanting to help but not knowing how.

“Fucking freaks!” Mike had gurgled miserably.

Virgil remembers noticing the use of plural and numbly thinking, that means me too, and so he’d scrambled up to his feet and started to walk away as well.

They kept hanging out with Mike and Brendan all through school. But no-one ever brought up the incident. And Virgil never asked his brother why he did it, not even years later, even though he’s still curious about it whenever he remembers that day. Sometimes he wonders why he doesn’t just ask him, but he knows why.

He doesn’t ask, because he’s afraid of what the answer would be.

What he doesn’t know is which answer scares him the most, Turk shrugging it off like he didn’t really have a reason, like he just wanted to join in the fight and hadn’t meant to break Mike’s nose at all. Or that he definitely meant to break it, and that he did it to protect his brother.


	2. First task

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turk twists around a little in his chair to get a better look. Virgil huffs next to him, but he ignores it. (Turk POV)

Turk’s knee accidentally knocks into Virgil’s under the table. And immediately Virgil scowls at him as though he did it on purpose, then knocks his knee back, harder, before moving his whole chair to the side so that they’re not touching anymore.

It’s so typical, Turk thinks. Like he would ever touch his brother on purpose. But even so, it’s not like he acts like he has the plague, or that he thinks accidentally knocking knees together is going to kill him either, because that’s just juvenile.

Turk leans back in his chair and stretches his arms back. He feels Virgil’s glare on him, but he won’t be goaded into another stupid spit contest, so he ignores him and focuses on their surroundings instead. Nonchalantly he scans the bar, looking for any sign of that security guard.

Instead his gaze falls on a leggy brunette leaning over the bar, ordering some cocktail, she’s wearing a tight little black number that is probably meant to be a dress but would technically fall under the category of petticoats or something, it‘s that tiny. Turk twists around a little in his chair to get a better look. Virgil huffs next to him, but he ignores it.

The girl at the bar receives her drink and turns around in one gracious twirl, hips thrust forward like a cat-walk model, black-lined eyes swiping over the bar to assess how many people’s attention she has, Turk guesses. When her gaze lingers on him, he smirks and raises his eyebrows suggestively. It’s a ridiculous move, but usually the girls find it funny. This one too, by the looks of it, although she tilts her head down to hide her smile.

She then tosses her hair over one shoulder like a shampoo commercial and walks out of the bar with a teasing strut to her step. Turk leans back further in his seat to get a good look at her backside as she walks away.

“Can you focus”, Virgil hisses at him.

“Just enjoying the scenery”, Turk replies.

When Ms. Femme fatal pauses and looks over her shoulder at him, he gives her a little wave, and she actually giggles. Turk grins to himself as he turns back to the table.

“Really, could you be more unprofessional”, Virgil bitches. “We’re meant to be working, not flirting with casino trash-”

“Hey, that could be my future ex-wife you’re talking about.”

“You’re disgusting-!”

Turk spots the security guard behind Virgil’s back and discretely hushes him. Of course he just huffs in response, but when Turk fixes him with a look he catches on and immediately shuts up.

The guard takes no notice of them as he walks by. Virgil grabs his little notebook and pen and scribbles down the time as he says, “He went through at ten forty-four.”

“Ten forty-sex, get a watch that works”, Turk says and gets to his feet.

“You make me sick… It’s ten forty-four!”

“It’s ten forty-six!”

Virgil knocks his shoulder against Turk as they exit the bar, obviously on purpose, which is just rich considering his little internalised tantrum earlier when Turk happened to accidentally brush his knee with his own. Turk reaches out and shoves him in the arm. Virgil stumbles sideways, losing his momentum and getting behindhand.

Turk keeps walking, and maybe he even speeds up a little when his brother is catching up to him, but they are on a tight schedule after all.


	3. Balloons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It reminds him of their 8th birthday. (Turk POV)

He spots the balloons first. They’re kind of hard to miss, being that there are about ten of them, all bright orange and yellow, all floating above the slot machines, practically glowing in the light from the electric chandeliers.

It reminds him of their 8th birthday. They’d planned a big party, all the kids from school were invited and their mum had baked a huge cake, it was shaped like a car. She let him and Virgil do the frosting. And when they couldn’t agree on the colour, she suggested Turk cover one half with green frosting and Virgil the other with blue. They’d both been so excited the night before they‘d insisted on going to bed right after dinner, like they always did on Christmas Eve, to make Christmas Day come sooner.

Only the next morning Turk was burning up and the party got cancelled.

He’d figured that Virgil would hate him forever, but later that day he woke up to the sound of a couple of hesitant knocks on the door to his room and opened his eyes to see Virgil sneaking inside. He’d brought a piece of cake, a blue piece, some of his own comics and a balloon, also one of the blue. He didn’t say anything, he just tied the balloon to the bedpost at the foot of the bed and put the cake and the comics down on the nightstand. Then he snuck back out again.

The next morning he was running a fever as well. Their mum said they might as well share a bed and keep each other company. They both made a big fuss about it, but as soon as she left them alone, Turk offered to share comics with Virgil and then they’d lied there, tucked in next to each other, silently reading comic after comic. It was the longest they’d gone without fighting in what was probably their entire lives. And come to think of it, they haven’t gone that long without at least bickering since then either.

He starts walking towards the mark. The balloons are getting closer, any second now Virgil is going to round the last row of slot machines and be in full view. Turk takes a deep breath to compose himself. He’d barely been able to contain his glee earlier when they were standing in front of the almost full-length mirror to double check the outfits.

Virgil’s reflection had met his gaze and scowled.

“Shut up”, he’d said and Turk had protested that he hadn’t said a thing, even as he was laughing.

Virgil, being the touchy person that he is, had petulantly shoved his shoulder and then walked off in a huff.

“Yee haaw!” Turk had called after him.

Virgil had shown tremendous will power and kept walking. He grabbed the balloons off of Rusty as they passed each other in the door and continued to stomp out of sight.

Turk continued to cackle and after Virgil was most likely out of ear shot did he chuckle to himself. Rusty shot him a look, but neither him or Reuben said anything, no-one ever did anymore. They just seemed to swallow their sighs, give each other meaningful or exasperated looks and sometimes they’d shake their heads, but they never bothered to say anything to him or Virgil. It was almost like they figured it’d encourage them further, or something.

Now he can see Virgil, still huffing by the looks of it, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to stay in character and not crack up again. That cowboy hat is just too much. And combined with the balloons, and that look of indignation on Virgil’s face, pouting as he is like a put out school girl, it’s just priceless, the whole picture.

Of course, as soon as they bump into each other, he’s on auto pilot. And he guesses Virgil is too. All the bickering, the screaming matches and the pushing of each other’s buttons, it’s all second nature to them. They can and do fall into it at the drop of a hat. It’s very convenient for cons. They could make it convincing in their sleep, because it’s not like they’re really faking it, not really.

He leans his head back and guffaws, pointing his finger at Virgil and his stupid cowboy hat, feeling the adrenalin start to rush as the security guy sidles up to them.

“He’s a balloon boy!” he cackles and points.

“Yeah I’m a balloon boy!” Virgil shouts back. “You’re spitting in my face!”

“Gentlemen, please”, the security guy insists next to them, and something else, Turk doesn’t really pay attention to him, he’s too busy enjoying himself taunting Virgil. He makes it so easy too. If he was a bird his feathers would be all ruffled by now. Instead he splutters and hisses and there’s a faint blush in his cheeks too, either from genuine anger or from the adrenalin, or both.

He pulls the balloons back down and wraps the act up by spluttering out something lame like he doesn’t have time to stand around, “with you two circus animals!“ and then he strides off.

He’s such a prima donna, Turk thinks and smirks to himself as he hurries off in the other direction.

He tries not to acknowledge his sudden craving for cake, especially cake with blue frosting, because he doesn’t even like blue and come to think of it he doesn’t like cake all that much either.


	4. Grabbing a bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He can see that Turk has chosen the corner booth, obviously just to get the prettiest waitress to serve them, and by the looks of it he’s already chatting her up. Virgil won’t say anything about it, though. (Virgil POV / Turk POV)

Virgil wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He looks around the warehouse and spots his brother about twenty yards away where he’s parking the lift truck. Virgil walks over to him.

“Hey”, he says.

Turk climbs down from the truck and stretches his arms back, chest puffing out, back arching.

“Fuck”, he mutters. “That thing really cripples you after a while…”

“I’m surprised you can even reach the pedals”, Virgil says, out of habit more than anything. “You wanna go grab something to eat?”

Turk replies by doing a half-shrug half-nod, but that’s a typical Turk-yes, so Virgil nods and they start walking towards the exit, side by side.

Turk claims that he’s in the mood for sushi and Virgil insists on Italian, not that he cares that much either way, he’s not really in the mood for anything, he’s just hungry, but Turk only wants to get sushi because he knows Virgil doesn’t like it, so it’s a matter of principle really.

They stand on the sidewalk between the two restaurants and argue about it for a good ten minutes, before Virgil’s had enough and suggests they both go get what they want as take-out and then they can eat outside.

“Outside? What on the sidewalk-?”

“No, not on the sidewalk, over by those benches for example-”

“I’m not eating outside, it’s too hot-”

“We can sit in the shade-!”

“What shade-?!”

Virgil throws his arms up in defeat. He’s hungry, no he’s starving, and yes it’s fucking hot out, so he can think of a number of things he rather be doing than stand in the middle of the street and argue about this, with the sun beating down on him. Especially when he knows his brother is being difficult just to mess with him. He starts walking away, down the street.

“Where you going!” Turk calls after him, but he ignores it.

“Wait up-!” Turk calls out to him then.

After a minute he can hear his brother’s footsteps behind him as he jogs to catch up with him.

“Go get your sushi!” Virgil yells without turning around.

“Look, I just don’t wanna get Italian, when I know I won’t have time to hit the gym later-”

Virgil snorts, that is so typical of his brother. Always working out, counting calories or whatever it is he does. He’s worse than a woman. And it’s just ridiculous because he’s all muscles and broad shoulders, but he could move in to one of those claustrophobic work-out places and live on protein shakes until he looks like Rambo and he’d still be a short jackass with the IQ of a… Virgil doesn’t even know, something with a low IQ, a cow or something.

“I don’t have to get sushi, I just don’t wanna get Italian”, Turk insists. “Come on, stop being such a baby!”

“I’m being a baby? You just wanted to get sushi in the first place because you know I hate it!”

“You haven’t even given it a chance, how do you know you hate it-?”

“I hate it, and even if I didn’t hate it, I don’t wanna get it right now, because I’m starving-!”

“Okay fine! We’ll get something else, hey look here-!”

Turk stops and grabs Virgil by the back of his shirt to make him stop as well. Virgil swallows a huff, and twists himself free of his brother’s grasp, but stays still and follows his line of sight.

“We’ll go in here”, Turk says. “You can grab a burger or something and I can get a salad, how’s that?”

Virgil gives the joint a once-over, it looks like a café from the fifties, the décor and the waitresses’ uniforms also look like they belong in the fifties. He eyes the picture menu with the specials on the sign by the door, and then he reluctantly nods.

“Alright”, Turk says and starts walking into the place.

Something feels off. Virgil hesitates for a moment, thinking about it.

Did we reach a compromise?

He decides it must be the heat and the exhaustion they both feel, and starts walking inside. Once he gets in, he can see that Turk has chosen the corner booth, obviously just to get the prettiest waitress to serve them, and by the looks of it he’s already chatting her up. Virgil won’t say anything about it, though. He doesn’t mind. It’s a nice booth, not directly in the sun from the windows.

He slides onto the seat opposite his brother. It’s comfortable too, he thinks. And his brother can flirt with whomever he wants, he could care less. But she better not neglect his coffee refills because she’s distracted by it though, he could barely sleep last night and he needs the caffeine if he’s going to have the energy to work late again tonight.

“Can I get some coffee?” he asks her, and realises a little too late that he just rudely interrupted her conversation with Turk, but again, caffeine comes first, so he doesn’t care.

Turk shoots him a sidelong glance, but he doesn’t start bitching about it when the girl leaves. Instead he leans back, arm casually draped along the top of the booth.

King of the world, Virgil thinks and grabs the menu.

  
*

  
Watching his brother glare at the menu like it alone is responsible for all the bad things in the world, Turk has to ward off both amusement and frustration, but also an embarrassing feeling of fondness at the whole picture, because when he’s frowning and sulking like this, Virgil looks all of eleven years old and Turk blames it on nostalgia, but he thinks there’s something cute about it. Cute like a pathetic little fur ball of a kitten, or a drooling mess of a puppy, not cute the way that skimpy waitress dress is cute or like the cherry-red lip gloss that the young woman a few tables over is wearing is cute.

He grabs his own menu and glances through it until he finds the salads. He hates fucking salads, they’re so boring. But it’s not like he’s got his brother’s metabolism and can eat just about anything all the time and still be as lean and graceful as a teenager. Or a ballet dancer. A girl ballet dancer. On the contrary, if he as much as looks at a bowl of pasta, he has to adjust his belt so it won’t cut into his belly.

Turk slams the menu down on the table again.

Peggy-Sue comes back with the coffee. Her real name is Hannah, but she looks like a Peggy-Sue. She flutters her fake eye lashes at him when he gives her one of his best smiles. And she fills up his coffee cup first.

Turk looks over at Virgil. Sure enough, he looks like he’s just swallowed a slice of lemon.

“Thank you” Turk says when his brother’s cup has been filled as well.

“No problem”, the girl twitters. “What can I get you to eat?”

“Double-burger”, Virgil mutters.

“I’ll just have a green salad”, Turk says.

The girl’s lips twitch, but then she looks between the two of them quickly and something changes in her eyes, like she’s just thought of something.

“Thanks doll”, Turk adds, a dazzling smile as a cherry on top.

“No problem”, she says again, and she smiles back, but this smile is different, Turk notes, it’s a typical waitress smile, polite, anonymous, guarded.

Then she’s turned on her heel and walked away from their booth before he’s had a chance to react. Turk leans out of the booth and looks after her, confused about what just happened.

Sitting up straight again, he looks over at Virgil to see if he’s noticed anything weird. But Virgil’s still glaring at the menu, even though they’ve already ordered, and Turk can’t be bothered to deal with that.

They don’t speak as they wait for their food, and they eat in silence when it gets to them. Peggy-Sue, Hannah Turk corrects himself, refills their coffee cups four times, but not once does she meet his eyes and her smile stays stubbornly polite the whole time.

It’s not until she brings their check that the pieces fall into place. She puts the folder next to his empty plate before she grabs it, not in the middle of the table, and usually he wouldn’t think anything of it, they take turns paying the check, Virgil and him, but what catches his attention is that where they always get separate checks even without having asked for it, this girl has given them one, and there’s definitely no phone number scribbled down anywhere on it either. And then it hits him.

“She thinks we’re gay”, he tells Virgil.

Virgil just shoots him a dirty look.

“Do I look gay?” Turk insists.

“Yes”, Virgil tells him, then he nods toward the check. “Are you gonna get that?”

“Yeah I’ll get it”, Turk mutters.

Virgil waits for him outside as he settles the bill at the counter. The girl actually looks him in the eye when she gives him back his change, but she’s not fluttering any eye lashes, and she’s not smiling.

“I hope I didn’t offend him, I was just, you know, I thought…”

“What, oh no, don’t worry about him!” Turk says and smiles at her.

She smiles back then, sweetly, not flirty by any means, but at least it’s genuine.

“Well, he’s a very lucky guy”, she says.

Turk laughs, tips her and waves good bye from the door. He joins Virgil on the sidewalk and they start to head back toward the warehouse, falling into step next to each other, finding a comfortable rhythm. And not until about five or so blocks down the street does Turk realise he never corrected the waitress about him and Virgil.


	5. This is my side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Words like "stupid" and "idiot" are on the tip of Turk’s tongue, but when Basher beats him to it, he suddenly feels like flicking him in the forehead. (Turk POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet :)

“Are you gonna think of one?”

“I’m not gonna think of one, I’ve already thought of one-”

“So you’re thinking of one right now-?”

“No, I’m done thinking about it, I have it in my head-!”

“Alright, are you a man?”

“Yes. Nineteen.”

“Are you alive?”

“Yes. Eighteen.”

“Evel Knievel.”

“…Shit!”  
 

  
Turk drapes his arm across the top of the seats. His thumb accidentally brushes the back of Virgil’s neck, and he immediately moves it away, but Virgil flinches anyway and glares at him.

“What?” Turk demands.

“What do you mean what, stop touching me-!”

Turk smacks the back of Virgil’s head, and Virgil wrenches his head to the side and almost hits it in the side window. He reaches over and shoves Turk in the chest.

“Quit shoving me!”

“Stop touching me!”

“Don’t be a retard, you’re like fucking Rainman-!” Turk says and goes to smack Virgil in the head again, but he moves out of reach.

“Stop touching me!”

“I’m not touching you”, Turk retorts, holding his hand above his brother’s head and obnoxiously waving it about like the five-year-old he’s been reduced to, that his brother always reduces him to. “Am I touching you? Am I touching you?”

Virgil head butts his hand, and insists that yeah, he’s touching him, “You just touched my face!”

“No, you just made me touch you”, Turk insists.

“This is my side”, Virgil shoots back, and shoves him again.

“I’m not on your side, quit shoving me!” Turk says and shoves him back.

And then they’re more or less wrestling in the front seat, and he barely avoids the handbrake, and the horn, and it’s not until Danny and the others get back to the van that they spring apart. And when Danny asks them where Linus is, Turk looks at Virgil, and Virgil looks as dumbfounded as he himself feels. He resists the impulse to looks back and scan the back of the van, as though it’d be impossible that Linus had left it without either him or Virgil noticing and therefore Danny must be mistaken.

“There he is”, Danny says and they all follow his line of sight, and sure enough, there he is, a little dark figure scurrying down one of the staircases.

“Shouldn’t someone help him?” Virgil says.

Words like stupid and idiot are on the tip of Turk’s tongue, but when Basher beats him to it, he suddenly feels like flicking him in the forehead, an absurd impulse in itself, even more so because he’d do it like he was standing up to his brother, which is just weird. But in all fairness, Virgil only meant well, and to his credit, he never said they should all go in after him, he just meant they couldn’t very well just leave him there, because for one he’s one of the guys now, and also they need him, and there’s hardly anyone that’d disagree with that, so the question wasn’t all that stupid.

Virgil glances at him. Turk doesn’t smirk or gloat, that’s as close to supportive he’ll get, but he thinks Virgil gets it, because he doesn’t glare at him or frown or anything. He just blinks and turns his face away again.

Then a window is broken and Linus is climbing out of it, out onto the roof of the lobby, security guards on his heel.

“Back it up”, Danny says and slides the side door shut.

Later when Danny’s busy yelling at Linus, and Basher is having a look at Yen’s hand, and Virgil is sitting silently next to him for once, Turk allows himself a moment to think. He wonders about Virgil constant repulsion with touch, if it’s some extreme intimacy issues that he has that Turk hasn’t known about, or if it’s just with him that he’s opposed to physical contact and if so, does he hate him that much that he can’t bear to be that close to him?

He gives his brother a sidelong glance, and it’s probably just his imagination, but Virgil seems to tense up as soon as he feels his gaze on him. The next moment, he glances back.

“What”, he says.

“I didn’t say anything-!”

“You’re looking at me-”

“I’m not looking at you, I’m looking at the road-”

“You’re looking at me through your peripheral-”

“You’re in my peripheral, I can’t help it-”

“Guys, please!”, Linus shouts from the back. “Can you just shut the fuck up for one freaking minute for once-!”

“Leave them alone”, Danny says.

The van is eerily quiet after that, for the rest of the ride, and even after they’ve dropped Danny and Linus off at the hotel, do the rest of them stay quiet, even after they’ve parked the van. Basher gets Yen some gauze for his hand, and Virgil goes to grab his and Turk’s room service uniforms. And as Turk waits for him to get back, he can’t help but think that there was something off about Danny’s tone of voice, that there was some weight to the words that didn’t seem to have anything to do with Linus, but more like something to do with them, Virgil and him.

But it’s not the first time he feels like missing something, especially being around guys like Danny and Rusty, who are all about secrecy and codes and telepathy. He’s more straight-forward. Virgil too. They can’t be bothered with reading between the lines or guessing people’s thoughts. They’re drivers, they drive.

Virgil comes back and shucks the uniform at him. He catches it just before it hits him in the face and makes a face at Virgil, just because he can, and because they never got to finish their last fight. Virgil rolls his eyes at him then, and Turk feels better already.


	6. SWAT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Virgil does a double-take, he thinks maybe he confused him for a real cop for a second. (Turk POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another drabble, but sugary sweet.

He’s still wearing the SWAT outfit when Virgil and Reuben comes back to the warehouse. And when Virgil does a double-take, he thinks maybe he confused him for a real cop for a second, but then he eyes the his bullet-proof vest and glances at the helmet on the ground next to Turk‘s feet, and Turk knows he thinks the outfit looks cool. Turk grins.

“Look hot, don’t I”, he says and waggles his eyebrows.

He’s aware of movement in his peripheral that suddenly stills, and thinks it must be Rusty loading the money bags into the car.

Virgil’s eyes shoot up to his and narrow. He snorts derisively.

“You look ridiculous.”

“Come on, admit it, you’re jealous.”

“Why would I be jealous.”

“Because the coolest costume you got to wear was a cowboy hat and a bunch of balloons-!”

The movement in his peripheral starts up again. He looks over. He was right about it being Rusty. And when he looks over, Rusty meets his eyes briefly, and he’s smiling, it’s one of his secretive smiles, and again Turk feels like he’s missing something that should be obvious.

“What about the body guard outfit-” Virgil counters and Turk forgets about Rusty again.

“Yeah, but we both had those-”

“So?”

“So I still win.”

“What are you five, it’s not a contest-!”

“Jealous.”

“Jerk.”


	7. A language of their own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At first you might think they hate each other, and you might wonder why they stick together and why they’d ever even consider working the same jobs, but after a while as you get to know them and you get used to their bickering and banter, you realise there’s a whole language to their fighting. (Danny POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implied slashy TWINCEST feelings in this one!

It’s a testimony of how well they know each other really. How alike they think, are. Or maybe just how much time they spend together. It must drive them insane, but it’s not like it doesn’t have an upside too. When they’re on a job for instance, when a distraction is needed, they’re the best there is because fighting and making a scene, that’s like second nature to them. And it helps to add credibility if they’re conning someone too, since it comes so natural to them and they play off each other so well.

Of course, they can never really shut it off, which is the downside. Because they can re-enact a typical fight they might have even when they’re not actually angry or getting on each others‘ nerves, in order to draw attention to themselves and cause a diversion, but to hold back from fighting when they are angry or getting on each others’ nerves, that’s impossible. Even when they’re not really all that angry, to not bicker and tease is hard to resist. It’s a lifelong habit, yeah, but it’s more than that too, it’s an addiction.

At first you might think they hate each other, and you might wonder why they stick together and why they’d ever even consider working the same jobs, but after a while as you get to know them and you get used to their bickering and banter, you realise there’s a whole language to their fighting, a language built on insults and petty semantics designed to get a rise out of the other, and it’s not just about getting under each others’ skin, because they’re already there, it’s about checking in and keeping tabs, about acknowledgement and support, and sometimes even comfort. But you have to take in the big picture to get a feel for it. And you have to pay attention to everything that’s wrapped around the words themselves, there’s the tone of voice, the body language, the looks, the circumstances, even the speed and rhythm of speech.

Linus doesn’t know the Malloy twins well enough to know any of this yet, in fact he barely knows them at all. So when Danny makes him stay behind and he has to sit and listen to them bicker, endlessly, tirelessly, he just wants to bang his head against the inner wall of the van, and he asks himself all those questions that anyone would ask in that same situation, where do they find the energy, why do they work together when they clearly can’t stand to be around each other, why did Danny and Rusty hire them of all people, why don’t they just go outside and start throwing some fists around and get it over with?

Danny, on the other hand, has known the twins, the Mormon twins as he calls them with just the right amount of irony behind their backs, for several years, has worked with them on a couple of different occasions now, but being the perceptive thief and con artist that he is, it only took him a couple of hours to figure out that there was more to this bickering than your normal sibling rivalry/affection, another couple of days to start to recognise the different shades and levels to their language, and another couple of weeks to come to his third and fourth realisation, both at the same time, the fourth being that the twins themselves hadn’t even come to the third yet, and they still haven’t.

He hasn’t discussed this with Rusty, but he doesn’t have to raise the subject to know that Rusty’s seen it too, because like with most things, him and Rus have a similar connection to Turk and Virgil, they too know each other inside-out, and he knows what Rusty‘s going to say before he says it and sometimes before he himself even knows he‘s going to say it, just like Rusty can read his mind right back at him and most times they don‘t even bother with words, because frankly what‘s the point.

“No, come on, don’t leave me with these guys!” Linus whines when he stops him from getting out of the van, and he gets it, he really does and in a way he kind of feels for the kid.

He remembers the first job he pulled with Turk and Virgil. He could take it for one hour and twelve minutes, then he told them that if they said another word for the rest of the night he was going to shove one of them up the other’s ass, not a very nice or eloquent thing to say, but he was under pressure and pissed off.

Listening to them now, he finds it almost cute, and definitely funny rather than frustrating. And it’s not like it ever gets in the way of the work, so he’s got no reason to complain. But part of him is growing impatient, watching them tip-toe around each together like they have been recently, seemingly oblivious to the tension grows heavier between them and has now started leaking out and is soaking everyone around them.

And sometimes he just wants to point it out to them, and get it over with, but he knows they’ll have to figure it out on their own, otherwise they’ll never come to terms with it.


	8. The mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turk tried to talk to him again, not to talk him out of the wedding, but to apologise for the night before and for all the attempts at talking him out of the wedding in the first place, but Virgil had just ignored him. (Turk POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached Ocean's Twelve in terms of the timeline of the fic. We've also reached the (implied) slash, although it's still PG.

It’s weird having the whole family gathered like this. Usually he tries to avoid any and all gathering of the sort, and come to think of it, so does his brother, but he seems happy enough to have them all here now, but then again, these are special circumstances, Turk figures.

He tries to restrain himself and not drink to much alcohol, his hangover being one reason, but also out of some sort of respect for the occasion, even though he thinks the whole thing is a big joke.

He looks at Virgil, looks at him smile and nod his head. It’s all an act, and they all buy it. They don’t know him the way Turk does. No-one does. Especially not this Sarah girl he only met about two hours ago. And Turk can’t believe he’s getting married to someone who doesn’t even know him and whom he probably knows just as little. Plus, she’s not all that interesting. She’s one of those boring, homely girls that your mother wants you to date.

Speaking of which, Ma’s obviously ecstatic about this whole charade.

Pa too, he thinks, and he would be, after all, he married one of those girls too, no disrespect to his mother or nothing.

Virgil clinks his glass and gets to his feet then. Holding a speech. It’s all so wrong, the suits they’re wearing, the people around them, that girl and her inbred family, and his brother’s permanent, almost scared smile, not to mention that hideous moustache, it’s all wrong, this isn’t their world. His brother is making the biggest mistake of his life to date, but Turk isn’t going to do another thing about it. He’s already tried talking to him about it, and that did as much good as a kick to his nuts.

He’s tried talking to him several times actually, ever since he started taking the girl out on dates, but the last time was at the bachelor’s party, not even twenty-four hours ago. They went to the local bar and got thrashed with the guys, well, Turk didn’t have that much to drink, just enough to lay the foundation for a tolerable hangover in the morning but not enough to do anything he’d regret and get blackmailed over in case anyone brought a camera. But Virgil, he’d been hammered. He was grinning from ear to ear like he didn’t have a care in the world, and for a while, Turk enjoyed the view, not able to remember the last time he saw his brother that happy.

But then he’s spotted Turk over in the corner and started zig-zagging over to him, drink spilling all over the floor and the back of his hand. And then he firmly planted himself in Turk’s lap, arm around his shoulders and all, hot breath laced with vodka hitting Turk in the face, and Turk had shoved him off with a half-hearted “Freak!”

Virgil had just giggled and gathered himself up off the floor and sat down in the seat beside him instead, twisting sideways, adjusting his gangly legs to nestle in between Turk’s and his chair’s, resting his elbow against the back of the chair, and his head against his hand. Grinning at Turk like that was nothing out of the ordinary at all.

“You’re drunk”, Turk had said.

“I know”, Virgil agreed happily.

Then they’d sat there in comfortable silence for a good two minutes before Turk went and ruined it.

“Look, man, are you sure about this girl-?”

Virgil’s head shot up and away from his hand like he’s been dozing off and someone had just splashed some cold water in his face. He pulled his legs to him and twisted around in his seat again.

“Don’t-” he muttered.

“I’m just saying-”

“No”, Virgil said, voice coming out a couple of notches higher than he probably realised. “You never just saying, you’re just-”

“-What, I’m just what?”

“Knowhat I don’t hav’ta lis’en t’this…” Virgil had mumbled, and it had taken him some effort and concentration but he’d got up from the chair again and he’d walked away.

And then he hadn’t talked to Turk again, not once during the night, not even when Turk helped him home and tucked him into bed, and not this morning when Turk tried to talk to him again, not to talk him out of the wedding, but to apologise for the night before and for all the attempts at talking him out of the wedding in the first place, but Virgil had just ignored him and walked off in a huff. Every single time. It was almost comical after a while.

And now he’s standing there, smiling like a idiot, and Turk couldn’t care less about this marriage anymore, or the fact that his brother is making a mistake and refusing to see it when it’s kindly pointed out to him. It’s not like it’s the end of the world. They can always get a divorce. Or even an annulment, if Virgil gets his head out of his ass soon enough.

Virgil thanks their family for being there, and then he moves on to thanking their neighbour and their pals from work, Turk follows the list of names down the table and smiles when each person acknowledges their mention with a wave or a toast, then it gets to him and he looks over at Virgil again, waiting, smiling, winking, then…

“And everyone else who’s been supportive and welcomed Sarah into the family.”

Huh, Turk thinks.

He knows he should have expected it. He knows he should have. And he knows it doesn’t mean anything, not really, it’s just part of their banter, part of their relationship, part of who they are. He doesn’t need his brother to name him in front of these people to know that he knows him better than all of them combined. And he doesn’t need his brother to confirm to know that he knows it too.

He takes the hurt that wells up, that’s not even hurt, it’s more like irritation really, and he squishes it together and makes a tiny little ball out of it. Grabbing his knife, he starts clinking his own glass. He’s not upset. Merely annoyed. He clinks the glass a little too hard and it almost breaks, almost. His brother glares at him, but then his gaze flickers to a point behind his back and he goes pale. Then there’s a tip of a cane pressing down on his hand, stopping him from clinking the glass any harder, and he turns around, intent on starting a fight, but that is quickly squashed down when Terry Benedict’s black eyes flash back at him and that cane is pressed against his throat instead.

“Get up”, Benedict hisses.

We’re screwed, Turk thinks, and looking over at Virgil he can tell he’s thinking the same thing, although that stupid little smile, albeit a watered down version of it, is still in place. Benedict has them stand up, next to each other, like a couple of naughty school boys who are about to be punished.

They don’t look at each other. They don’t look at anyone. And Benedict might have given them two weeks to pay the money back, but they’re still screwed.


	9. Travelling by train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny and Rusty claims to have lost Yen. Virgil claims to have lost his book. (Virgil POV)

  
“It’s ridiculous”, Turk bitches. “It’s a moral issue we’re dealing with here! Not to mention we don’t have a grease man anymore ‘cause he’s in a bag somewhere, we don’t know!”

“We got a bag man”, Virgil says.

And yeah the joke was stupid, but he’s expecting a snort at least, maybe a chuckle at the how bad the joke was, but Turk just stares at him silently for second, then calls him an ape and makes a show of pointedly looking elsewhere, as though Virgil is just a waste of his time.

“An animal”, he continues listlessly. “With no feelings, you are.”

“I have feelings-”

“No, you don’t.”

“Look- Yeah, I do! I feel bad for the guy, he’s a human being stuck in a piece of luggage. But he’s got water, he’s got air, I mean, what did you want them to do?”

“Oh my God. They should’ve gotten off the bus-!”

“Get off the bus-!”

“-get off the bus, pick up the bag-!”

“-they were trying to be inconspicuous-!”

“-that your friend is in!”

“-How many professional soccer teams do you know that are fielding fifty-year-old men?”

Turk just shakes his head at him the entire time, like he can‘t believe they‘re even having this discussion.

“Rusty’s not fifty years old”, Danny says and they both realise that he’s been standing next to them for better part of their argument.

“Yeah, dude, we know Rusty’s not fifty”, Turk murmurs.

Virgil shoots him a look. He’s still looking past Virgil’s shoulder, only now he’s puffing his chest out, and he’s rolling his weight slightly over the balls of his feet and pursing his lips. Virgil has to stomp down the impulse to look over his shoulder, but he’d bet anything his brother is looking at Rusty. He’s got that ridiculous, star-struck gleam in his eye.

“You think I’m fifty years old?” Danny asks, and Turk tears his gaze away from whatever it’s stuck to, Rusty, and looks at him.

If Virgil didn’t know better, he’d think his brother had a crush or something.

And if he was gay, Rusty is precisely the type he’d go for too, Virgil just knows it. At least judging by the type of girls he usually goes for. Stereotypical and on-the-surface good looks, but with no trace of a personality, besides in their outfits, that are always designed to feature their perfect form, and they’re always dazzling you with their smiles so that you’ll get distracted and not realise how boring and predictable they are.

“No, let me ask you something”, Danny says and turns to Virgil instead, an amused twinkle in his eye and one of his cocksure smirks in place. “How old do you think I am?”

Danny too, he thinks, is someone Turk would go for. Not as Playgirl as Rusty, but with his dark eyes and voice, and that classic beauty… at least, Virgil guesses that‘s how one might describe him, not that he’s ever thought of him that way… but again, predictable, surface, boring.

“Forty-eight”, he answers him, and fights to keep a straight face when the smirk falters.

“You think I’m forty-eight years old?”

“Fifty-two?”

And then he leaves again.

“Maybe he should have asked me”, Turk says.

“Nobody should ever ask you anything”, Virgil shoots back.

“The guy’s life isn’t hard enough right now, you gotta-”

“You gonna defend him-?”

“Little bit, yeah.”

“He put Yen in a hand bag!”

Turk jerks his head slightly to the side, almost yielding, always just almost, never completely. And only a minute ago he was kicking up a fuss about the whole thing, but of course since it’s Danny and Rusty… Virgil turns away from Turk.

He can see Rusty standing approximately where Turk had been looking. He’s talking to Linus, and by the looks of it he’s being obnoxious, because he’s got that playful little smile on his face and Linus looks confused. 

Virgil imagines what it would be like if it had been him who’d lost the bag with Yen in it, and what his brother would say then. It’d be an imaginative variety of insults, most of them to do with his lack of intellect, for sure. And he wouldn’t have worried about keeping his voice down either. On the contrary, he would’ve gladly let the entire train station know what an idiot he thinks Virgil is.

But since it was Danny and Rusty, he’s fine with just whining quietly about it to his brother. Virgil doubts if he’d even call Rusty stupid to his face, ever.

“What’s up with you now?” Turk asks him then.

“What?” Virgil mutters.

“Something’s got your panties in a-”

“Shut up.”

“-twist, I’m just curious.”

“You’re an idiot”, Virgil counters, but he’s heart’s not really in it.

Rusty grabs a couple of their bags and boards the train. Virgil turns back to his brother again, and finds him watching him, and he does look curious.

“Seriously”, he says. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“Why were you glaring at Rusty?”

“I wasn’t glaring at Rusty, I was glaring at you, I just didn’t want to look at you”, he snaps.

“Alright fellas, let’s go!” Rusty yells from the open train door.

The others divide the luggage between them and start filing into the train. Rusty is still wearing his sunglasses inside, even though his seat is in the shade, and the compartment is rather dark.

It’s not until his face breaks out in a grin that Virgil realises he’s been staring at him. He shakes his head, to show that he was actually lost in thought, not deliberately staring, but Rusty just keeps grinning, and Virgil thinks maybe he didn’t buy it.

Turk plops down in the seat next to him, shoulder bumping into his. Virgil sighs and shoves him back.

“What?” Turk says.

“Keep to your side.”

“I am on my side, what’re you talking-”

“-You’re crowding me, do you have to-”

“-about, I’m sitting normally, I’m not even touching you-!”

“-do you have to sit there?”

Turk purses his lips, then quirks them in one of his not-so-amused smiles and nods slightly.

“No”, he says and gets up again. “I don’t have to sit here.”

Virgil’s not sure why he gets a sinking feeling in his belly when Turk walks away and goes to sit by himself a few rows down, but he thinks he might be feeling bad for over-reacting, also Turk had the same look in his eyes as he did just before Terry Benedict showed up at the family dinner, when Virgil hadn’t mentioned his name. He’d felt bad then, too. But the bastard deserved it. Besides, he was thanking everyone who’d been supportive of the wedding and welcoming towards Sarah entering the family, and his brother had been neither, rather deliberately and stubbornly, so why should Virgil thank him, he had nothing to thank him for.

Virgil slouches down in his seat.

The sinking feeling is still there, it seems to hollow him out because he feels suddenly empty, and cold inside. He looks over at where Turk is sitting.

He gets out of his seat and walks over to him. He waves a hand in front of his face to get his attention, and his brother frowns but presses pause on his mp3-player, albeit reluctantly, then gives Virgil an expectant look. But Virgil just gestures for him to take his headphones off, as well.

“What?” Turk snaps as he’s got them off.

“Do have my book?”

“Your what?”

“My book, I can’t find it in my bag, I thought maybe it ended up in yours by mistake.”

“Since when do you read?”

“Ha-ha, very funny-”

“Why would I have your book in my bag-?”

“I don’t know, maybe you took it-”

“Why would I want to take your book-?”

“-by mistake, I can’t find it in mine! Know what, never mind…”

Virgil starts to walk back to his seat again. The whole thing was stupid to begin with, he’d acted on pure impulse and clearly he didn’t know what he was doing.

“Hang on!”, Turk calls after him. “I’ll look.”

Virgil pauses, half-spins around to face him, and shakes his head. Then he sinks down in his own seat again. He glances at the bag by his feet. The book’s in the outside pocket, he knows it is.


	10. Brotherly moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During some downtime, as the group has encountered a problem with the job, Virgil takes the time to try and work out what to do about his fiancée Sarah. Turk hovers nearby, channeling some mother hen spirit, it seems. (Turk POV / Virgil POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The brothers are getting closer, although this is honestly innocent (unless your slash glasses are really strong...) and very PG.

Turk finds his brother out on the balcony. The sun is beating down on him, and he’s wearing shades but no hat. Turk is hit by a sudden impulse to bring him one, knowing he’ll get a headache otherwise, and it’s disturbing, not Virgil getting a headache, but the impulse to prevent it. He squashes it and join him by the railing instead. Puts his hands stubbornly in his pockets.

Virgil’s fingering his cell. He glances sideways at Turk, then apparently decides to ignore him. He even sniffs a little, chin jutting out. Turk shakes his head to himself, and turns to the view instead.

“You should call her”, he says.

“Fuck you”, Virgil replies.

His voice equally neutral, the words a simple murmur, and Turk doesn’t really take it to heart. Not really. He rolls on the balls of his feet a couple of times. Takes one of his hands out of his pocket and pinches the fabric of his shirt, pulls on it a few times to create some air, to cool himself down.

“It’s hot out here”, he comments.

Virgil snorts.

“You not hot?”

“My fiancée used to think so”, Virgil quips.

It’s Turk’s turn to snort, although it sort of comes out like something closer to a chuckle. He tilts his head down to hide the stupid smile that tails the sound.

“You think that’s funny”, Virgil comments.

Turk can tell on his voice that he‘s distracted though. It sounds distant, and looking at his profile Turk can see that he’s not really there, he can see the wheels turning in his head, he can see him thumb the buttons on his cell but not pressing any, he can see him worry his lower lip, then suck it into his mouth. He tears his gaze away and looks down at the ground below instead.

“Hilarious”, he mutters.

“Yeah well you would”, Virgil mutters back, almost whispers.

The whole conversation, if one could even call it that, Turk thinks, has flopped onto its stomach and is squirming uselessly on the ground between them. He’s not even sure what they’re talking about anymore. And he can’t tell what’s up with his brother, and it’s annoying him. Probably the sun’s already gotten to his head.

“I’m heading back inside”, he says. “You should too. You’ll fry what’s left of your brain.”

“Ha-ha…”

Turk turns away and starts walking back inside, but he pauses in the doorway and looks back. Virgil doesn’t turn around, he’s still leaning his elbows on the railing, still staring at his cell.

“Bye”, he calls out.

“At least put on a hat or something”, Turk calls back.

“’Kay mum”, Virgil mutters.

Turk bites back a curse and leaves him where he is. Hope he gets a migraine, he thinks to himself as he storms inside the suite. He snatches Linus’ cap off his head and walks back to the balcony.

“Hey!” Linus calls after him, but he ignores it.

He stomps back outside. Fuck the sun is bright, he thinks as he adjusts to it once again. Virgil half-turns towards him this time, surprise on his face, and he opens his mouth to speak, but before he has time to, Turk’s already reached up and put the cap on his head. Then he spins on his heel and stomps back inside.

“What the hell-?”, Linus starts to protest from the couch.

Turk just glares at him.

“What-!”

“Just leave it”, Rusty tells Linus.

Turk merely glances at Rusty, then heads to the front door. Well aware of several sets of eyes watching him. He grabs his own hat and his wallet from the small dresser inside the door and leaves.

\---

Virgil stays where he is, half-leaning against the balcony railing, his gaze fixed to the darkened doorway where his brother just disappeared, wondering what the hell just happened and what happened to the missing bit between it and the conversation they’d just had. He puts his cell phone into his back pocket and follows his brother inside. As he pauses in the doorway to adjusts to the darkness inside, he hears the front door slam shut, and when the room comes into view he can see Rusty, Basher and Linus all staring back at him. He gives the suite a quick once-over and finding his brother nowhere to be seen, deducts that he must’ve been the one to slam the door.

“Oh, here’s the other one”, Linus mutters.

“What happened, where’d Turk go?”

“Jesus…” Linus keeps muttering.

Rusty just smiles one of his annoying, teasing smiles, like he knows a secret and no way is he going to let you in on it. Him and Basher exchange a look, then he nods towards the door and gives Virgil a significant look. Significant of what, though, Virgil has no idea. But the smile is really getting on his nerves.

“Can I have my cap back now?”

Virgil glances at Linus who’s holding his hand out and staring back expectantly. Virgil takes the cap off and tosses it to him.

He considers going after Turk, but figures that’d be pointless and goes to the adjoining room and plops down on the bed. He needs time alone to think anyway. So, it’s a good thing his brother’s taken off, really. Seems to be joined at Virgil’s hip most of the time, and it really makes it hard for him to think.

Not that having Turk around is distracting, Virgil corrects himself. Unless he’s actively trying to be distracting, of course.

But he needs to decide what to do about Sarah. And it’s not like Turk could offer any support in that regard, even if he was the supportive type, which he clearly isn’t, because Virgil already knows what his opinion on the whole matter would be if he were to consult him, and what his opinion on Sarah and the wedding has been from the start. It’s not like he’s tried to hide it, after all.

And loathe as he is to admit it, Virgil knows that he’s right.

Sarah’s not the girl for him. He knew that when he took her on their first date. But Turk was being such a jerk about it, that he had to prove him wrong. So the first date turned into a second, and then a third, and before he knew it, they were planning a wedding and Ma was ecstatic and Turk was all ruffled and… he should have put a stop to the whole charade a long time ago, he knows that, but it all happened so fast, and he was a little snowball rolling down a hill of wedding dresses and cake samples, and he’s only just come to a crashing halt.

And now what, he thinks to himself.

“You alright, man?” Rusty asks from the doorway.

Virgil doesn’t bother moving his head, so he can’t see him, but he’s sure he can hear the smirk on his voice. He waves a hand in the general direction of the door.

“Fine”, he says.

He’s not fine, actually, but Rusty doesn’t need to know that. Actually, he feels sort of sick. Maybe it’s the thought of wedding cake, he thinks. A dull ache has started to seep into his scull, makes it hard to think, and he still hasn’t come up with a solution to the Sarah problem.

Jesus, he thinks to himself and rubs a hand over his face.

It’s my fiancée I’m thinking about. She’s not a problem. She’s a human being. A beautiful, innocent, girl human being. And I am such an asshole.

He lets his eyes drift shut. The darkness helps a little, but it doesn’t really get dark. It gets darker, but not nearly dark enough to be soothing. The inside of his eyelids are orange. Fleshy orange. And his head is throbbing.

Then with a sudden swish sound, the orange is gone and all is black. Until he opens his eyes. The ceiling is more grey than white now. He sits up and sees Turk by the window. The drapes are drawn. Turk stares back at him, a challenge in his eyes, arms folded in front of his chest.

“Thanks”, Virgil mutters and notices the tension in his brother’s shoulders ease slightly.

“How’s you head”, he shoots back.

“Hurts”, Virgil mumbles and lies back down.

He curls onto his side. He can’t deal with Turk now. He can’t deal with his I told you so-s. He reaches over his head and grabs one of the pillows, pulls it on top of his head. Darkness and quiet, he thinks. That’s what I need.

A moment later there’s a gentle tap on his hand, the one holding the pillow in place. He jerks, and pulls the pillow off. Turk is standing by the side of the bed, holding a white pill of some sort and a big bottle of water. He puts them both down on the bedside table, gives Virgil a significant look, and leaves again.

Virgil considers asking what the pill is, but he doesn’t really care. He takes it and swallows it down with a few gulps of water. He screws the cap onto the bottle and is just about to put it back on the bedside table when Turk’s voice reaches him from the sitting room, “Drink the whole thing!”

Virgil barely refrains from gritting his teeth.

“You’re dehydrated!”

“Okay-!” Virgil yells back.

He angrily unscrews the cap again and takes a long swig, almost chokes on it and splutters a bit. He imagines hearing his brother chuckle from the other room and grumbles, but keeps drinking until the bottle is empty anyway, because he knows he’s right.

Briefly he wonders if Sarah would make him drink a bottle of water, but he quickly pushes the thought away and smothers himself in the pillow again. The next thing he’s aware of, it’s evening, and the suite is eerily quiet.

He throws the pillow aside and scrambles off the bed.

The sitting room is empty. He hugs himself, feeling slightly cold. Notices the door to the balcony still open, and goes to close it. As he does, the front door opens instead and he sees Turk, his arms full of take out and more bottled water. Their eyes lock.

“Hey”, Turk calls out. “You’re up.”

“Yeah”, Virgil rasps. “Where is everyone?”

“Danny and Rusty went to have a look at the house. The others went to dinner”, he says as he moves over to the table and disposes his findings on top of it. Virgil follows his movements, eyes the food and the water. Bites the inside of his cheek to keep from asking, or commenting, because he knows why Turk isn’t with them, why he’s bought the food to go and brought back here, because he’s being nice to Virgil, he’s being all big brotherly because Virgil was feeling bad and Virgil kind of likes it, however disturbing it may be, he likes feeling doted on and cared about, and it’s rare, so he doesn’t want to ruin it.

“What’d you get?”, he says instead.

“Your favourite”, Turk says and grins.

“Really”, Virgil says, not believing him for a minute.

“Yep, thai food.”

“That’s not my favourite.”

“Fine, so I got my favourite.”

Virgil snorts and shakes his head. But he’s fine with thai food, so he doesn’t say anything else about it, just joins his brother by the table. They open up all the cartons, Turk hands him chopsticks, Virgil hands him napkins, they share the food in comfortable silence, and it’s almost domestic, and really nice.

“How’s your head?” Turk asks halfway into the meal.

“Better… thank you.”

Turk just nods and they keep eating in silence.


	11. One game ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the weirdest thing, they look at each other all the time, usually Virgil will tell you he’s nothing but sick and tired of his brother’s face, but this time, for some reason his pulse does this quick step move and it takes him by surprise. (Virgil POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter set during Ocean's Twelve. Subtextually heavy on the slashy feelings now, but we're still swimming in that river in Egypt. This chapter is all Virgil's POV.
> 
> (And, ironically, this is the first chapter that I wrote in this fic...)

Virgil tosses his cards down on the table and holds his hands up with a chuckle. Danny smirks at him briefly before returning his attention to the game. Next to him Turk avert his eyes, a little to casually, and his finger nails whiten slightly as he holds his playing cards a little harder. Then he tunes in to something Rusty is saying, some joke or funny anecdote apparently, because he immediately relaxes again and breaks out laughing, one of his ridiculous guffaws, all hearty and, well, ridiculous.

Virgil snorts to himself and reaches for his drink. He feels lighter than he’s felt in a long time, and it’s not just the aftermath of the job, or knowing that he isn’t going to die, at least not today, because if he’s being honest with himself he feels lighter than he’s felt since the last time the guys were gathered together like this.

Turk laughs at something else that Rusty says. Virgil feels a strong impulse to join in, but he takes a sip of his drink instead, he doesn’t want Rusty thinking he’s laughing at whatever he said, because really, the guy isn’t that funny, and Virgil doesn’t want to encourage him. He gets enough attention, he thinks and leans back in his seat.

He takes another sip of his drink. Just then Turk glances over. And their eyes lock.

It’s the weirdest thing, they look at each other all the time, usually Virgil will tell you he’s nothing but sick and tired of his brother’s face, but this time, for some reason his pulse does this quick step move and it takes him by surprise. He almost chokes on the sip of vodka cranberry, almost, but he doesn’t. Turk gives him a funny look anyway. 

Could be the vodka kicking in, Virgil tells himself. Or even the relief at being laughed with instead of at, for once. Not Turks eyes being all glittery when he’s happy and noticing this for the first time ever after having known the guy your whole life. Nope, nothing to do with that.

And yet he quirks his lips and raises his glass slightly in a toast. Turk immediately gets suspicious, but then he nods, once, in acknowledgement. That’s more than Virgil would have hoped for, anyway.

Rusty nudges Turk with his shoulder and steals his attention back. When he has it, he inclines his head toward the table, and following movement Turk stares at the chips, then at his cards, in confusion.

Virgil finishes his drink and claps Frank on the shoulder as he gets up and leaves the room. Before he shuts the door he can hear Turk folding and Basher snickering in response.

The night ait is soothing, not just to breathe, but against his skin as well.  He can feel his cheeks cooling and his head clearing. He’d keep blaming the vodka, but the truth is he’s only had a screwdriver and a cranberry.

Must be the adrenalin lingering, he figures.

He pulls out a pack of smokes from his pocket and lights one. Just as he exhales, Turk’s voice speaks up behind him - “Hey” - and startles him into coughing up a lung and then he gets smoke in his eyes and starts to tear up, and of course Turk is laughing the entire time.

“Asshole”, he wheezes at him just as soon as he can breathe again.

“I thought you quit.”

“Really”, Virgil shoots back. “You’re gonna start with me already-”

“I’m not starting anything, I’m just saying-”

“You never just say anything.”

Virgil turns back to the view, not that it’s much of a view, just a parking lot and a thick blanket of grey clouds over the night sky. A moment later Turk sidles up to him. Virgil tenses up instinctively. He takes a passive-aggressive drag on his cigarette to distract himself. He will not be provoked into a fight, not now, he’s just going to stand here and smoke and enjoy the peace and quiet, and ignore Turk.

“Can I have a drag?”

“You don’t smoke!” Virgil retorts, his voice obscenely loud, even to his own ears, and Turk actually flinches.

“How do you know”, he gripes back, stubborn mule that he is, and Virgil snorts.

“What do you mean how do I know, I know!… Fine, you know what-”

He pulls out the pack again.

“You want to start smoking at the age of 29, genius, be my guest, here, have a whole one, on me.”

“You afraid I got cooties or something-?”

“Just take the damn cigarette!”

When the quiet settles again, as Turk takes the offered cigarette without further fuss and leans in to catch the flame of Virgil’s lighter, it feels weird, out of place. And being this close to each other without fighting, or screaming in each others’ faces, that is just surreal.

When Turk leans back, Virgil has to lock his knees to quench the impulse to take a couple of steps back.

They smoke in silence, side by side, Virgil keeping an eye on Turk in his peripheral and Turk sucking on his cigarette like he never does anything else. And it strikes Virgil that maybe his brother does smoke after all, or has smoked at least, and he tries not to investigate too closely how it makes him feel that there’s something about his brother that he doesn’t know.

“I don’t smoke”, Turk says then and meets his gaze.

“I know.”

“I’m just saying you were right… but I have smoked before though.”

“When?”

“In school.”

Virgil clams down on his own cigarette to stop all the other questions from spilling out, questions like, what grade, where in school, with whom, where did you get the cigarettes, and where was I… and he holds the smoke in, trying to drown his feelings in it, feelings too similar to hurt and betrayal than he’s comfortable with admitting.

“So”, Turk says and turns to face him completely, like they’re actually having a conversation.

“What?”

“Looking forward to going home? To the wedding plans and the little girlfriend?”

“Fuck you”, Virgil says, but there’s no real bite in it.

He flicks his cigarette butt away towards the nearest car. It explodes against the windshield like the world’s smallest fireworks.

“What”, Turk says.

“Wedding’s off, man, that’s what-”

“Whoa, hey-”

“Do you have to-”

“I didn’t know that, come on-”

“Whatever, man…”

Virgil turns to walk back inside, but Turk reaches out and grabs a hold of his arm.

“No, hey”, he says, and he sounds genuine enough to make Virgil curious, so he stills and glances back at him. “How was I supposed to know the wedding’s off, you didn’t tell me.”

“I’d have thought it’d be obvious.”

“Nah come on, you just gotta talk to her, explain it to her, just you know, tell her it was all a big misunderstanding, Benedict had the wrong guy… or, hey, you could always blame it on me!”

Virgil just stares at Turk without saying anything for a long moment. Turk stares back, all open face and big eyes. He means it. Furthermore, he means well. Virgil swallows, mouth suddenly gone dry, and he resists the temptation of listing to himself the other times in the past when that’s happened, all of which he can count on his one hand.

Speaking of which, he thinks and carefully manoeuvres his arm out of Turk’s grasp.

Turk immediately shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down on the ground between them. Virgil looks away.

“Wedding is off”, he says again, calmly, hoping that Turk can read the ‘thanks’ and all the other sentimental crap from between the lines, because he’ll eat the rest of his cigarettes before he says any of it out loud.

Turk drops his cigarette butt to the ground, then stomps on it.

They stand there for a moment, staring at the squished cigarette butt between them, awkwardly listening to the silence that settles.

Peace and quiet. What was he thinking.

“Wanna-?”

“Yeah.”

“…‘kay.”

As they turn to head back inside and join the others, Turk reaches a hand up and claps Virgil on the shoulder, twice, in a brotherly gesture that speaks of comfort, and sympathy, and-

It’s awkward as all hell, whatever it speaks of, Virgil decides.

They both clear their throats at the same time, then more or less power walk inside.

For the rest of the night, Virgil makes it his mission to get to know Frank, really get to know him, by asking him questions and listening with rapt attention to the answers, and not once glancing across the table at anyone else. If Frank gets uncomfortable by the attention, he’s kind enough not to show it, but he does make a point of talking about women he’s been with for most of their conversation. Virgil doesn’t mind.

Once in a while, one or two of Rusty’s comments to Turk reaches him, and he thinks Turk is having a similar agenda, either that or he’s trying out a new tactic for his game, one that has him staring at his own cards and not once looking at the other players or the chips on the table.

“Well”, Frank says finally. “It was nice talking to you, Virgil-”

“What?”

Frank turns to the room at large and says to everyone in general, “I think I’m gonna call it a night”.

He’s met by a choir of “Alrights” and “Good night Franks”, Virgil’s “Wait don’t go” being the solo, and he turns to Tess and Isabel and bows gentlemanly, completely ignoring Virgil’s feeble protest as he gets to his feet and leaves the room.

Virgil’s eyes settle on Reuben, two seats over, and he contemplates scooching over to Frank’s seat and strike up a conversation with him instead, but Reuben is still playing poker, not that Virgil gets why, you can’t win over Danny, or Rusty, and Danny and Rusty in the same game, working together, forget about it.

“Don’t even think about it”, Reuben says, then tears his gaze from the table and fixes Virgil with a look.

“What”, he squeaks with as much idignation as he can muster, even as his cheeks heat up with embarassment.

Reuben raises an eyebrow at him. His look is much too knowing for Virgil’s liking. And he’s smirking like there’s something amusing going on.

“Don’t drag me into it”, is all Reuben says, then he turns back to the game.

Across the table, Danny is also smirking at him, and his eyes too seem to see right through him. Virgil wants to ask what exactly he sees that is so funny, but more than that he wants to get out of there, so he does.

Behind him he hears Rusty speak up just before he closes the door, “Turk, man, are you even in this game anymore?”

The door clicks shut, and Virgil walks away down the hall.


	12. Adrenalin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turk finds himself staring back, finds himself unable to tear his gaze away and he’s reminded of the sun, but he won’t allow himself to linger on the thought. (Turk POV / Virgil POV)

Virgil picks up on the third ring, although Turk can barely hear him through the static.

“Hello? Hello, Turk?” he crackles.

“Yeah, yeah it‘s me”, Turk replies.

Virgil sounds out of breath, he thinks. And excited. He clears his throat. He can hear Virgil’s voice crackle through the connection again and tunes back in.

“-Can you he-?…”

“Yeah. Yeah, I hear ya-!”

“Oh, you ca-… What?””

Fucking delay, Turk thinks.

“… So, what’s up?” Virgil yells through the noise.

It’s really weird, them being so far apart like this. They never really spend much time apart, usually. And even when they do, they’ve never been this far away from each other before. For some reason, Turk feels like his brother is slipping away from him. Which is a ridiculous thought, and he knows it is. As soon as he’s fixed the dice, Virgil’s coming right back and they’ll be ripping each other’s heads off again in no time.

“Turk?… Hello?…”

“Yeah, I’m here! I’m just calling to check in. Danny wants to know why the factory’s shut down. What’re you doing, Virg?”

There’s a static pause, then Virgil says something, but the words are lost in the cracks. Turk tries moving to the other side of the suite, but he knows it’s probably pointless, there’s nothing wrong with his reception.

“What’s that?” he yells, ignoring Saul who hushes him. “I can’t hear you, man! What‘d you say?”

“He says… ”, he tells the others later on.

When Danny tells him to get down there and sort it out, he huffs and rolls his eyes, but if he’s completely honest with himself, he’s sort of relieved. It’s not that he misses Virgil exactly. But it is worrying not knowing what he’s doing, or if he’s alright. And it’s unnerving not to be able to properly check in with him.

When he gets there, he discovers Virgil on a soap box, rallying the crowd. At least he’s wearing a hat, Turk thinks and jumps out of the rental. He waves to get Virgil’s attention. Once his brother spots him, he taps one of the other workers on the shoulder and they swap places. Virgil squeezes through the small crowd and jogs to meet Turk halfway. He nearly crashes into him, arms flopping about the place, and Turk almost thinks he’s about to hug him, but he seems to catch himself and ends up awkwardly patting him on the chest instead. His eyes are bright, crazed, and the sweat is pouring off him. But he’s grinning, and Turk gets that it’s probably the adrenalin, but part of him likes to think his brother is also happy to see him.

He smiles back.

“What are you doing here”, Virgil shouts like it’s a happy, but insane surprise.

All Turk can think about is Virgil’s hands that are lingering on collarbones, big and warm, long fingers curling over his shoulders, pressing into muscle. Then he pats him one more time, and moves away. Hands go into his back pockets. Turk gets a flash of a thought of them sliding into his own back pockets, and immediately blames it on the heat.

“What are you doing”, he shouts back.

“Come on”, Virgil says and leads him away from the crowd.

Virgil tells him about the factory, the working conditions and the low wages. He’s animated. Turk’s never seen him this worked up before. Well, he’s seen him upset before, he’s seen him splutter, and huff, and yell, and stomp his feet. But he’s never seen him passionate like this. It’s a good look on him, even though he does seem kind of crazed, but Turk is guessing that’s to do with the heat and exhaustion, he wants to ask when’s the last time Virgil slept and if he’s drinking enough water, but doesn’t.

Then Virgil puts his hand on him again, it’s just briefly, just rests it on his arm, just where his sleeve ends, to get his attention or emphasize a point, Turk’s not sure, but the contact sends a jolt through him and he hopes his brother doesn’t feel the goose bumps. If he does, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps talking about this new cause. Pinning Turk with his eyes, his wild, passionate eyes. Turk finds himself staring back, finds himself unable to tear his gaze away and he’s reminded of the sun, but he won’t allow himself to linger on the thought.

“We can really make a difference here, Turk…” Virgil murmurs.

Turk’s stomach does a flip, his pulse quickens. Maybe his brother is onto something. Adrenalin is the best part of what they do, it’s why they do what they do, when it comes to both driving and conning, so why not rallies as well. He nods.

“Alright”, he says. “Let’s do it…”

Virgil’s face lights up in 60 watt and they run back to the others. Within seconds, Turk’s adrenalin is racing, his mind I wheeling, and he should have phoned Danny but he completely forgets. He grabs Virgil by the arm, then pulls him down by the neck, their hats collide, and he yells in his ear, “I have an idea!”

Virgil’s new friend, Nestor, comes up with the liquor bottles. Virgil stuffs the pieces of cloth in them, Turk lights the end with his lighter. It’s team work. It’s exciting. Maybe it’s not as sophisticated as the jobs Danny and Rusty pulls, but in a way it’s even more gratifying, because it’s chaos, it’s uncontrolled, it’s real danger. When they storm the fence, Turk is more alive than he’s ever been in his life, he feels just like Virgil looks, and when the news of the pay raise reaches them, he feels like 4th of July. Virgil turns to him, that insane grin on his face, and he throws his arms around him in a big hug.

He gingerly puts his arms around his waist and hugs him back. Virgil’s all warmth and sweat and pounding heart, and muscle, Turk realizes. Way more muscles than he would have thought. Then suddenly those muscles get even harder as his brother tense up. And then he’s stepping out of embrace and backing away. Turk quickly retreats his own arms, folds them over his chest to feel less empty and cold. Virgil avoids his gaze.

“You alright?” Turk asks him, and Virgil nods quickly, too quickly.

“Yeah, yeah, fine”, he mutters and moves away.

Turk stays where he is, watching as Virgil catches up to Nestor. Watching them hug and walk off together. He feels his high sail back down, the adrenalin, the happiness, whatever it was, it just evaporates and he feels drained. I need a drink water, he thinks. A few of the factory workers clap him on the back as he walks by, he waves at them, but his hearts not in it anymore.

“American!” someone greets him.

“Hey”, he says, and high-fives them. “Good job, man… hey, d’you know where I can get something to drink?”

“You want drink? Here! Here!”

The guy waves a bottle of tequila in his face and gestures wildly for him to help himself. Turk tries to thank him and explain that what he really need is water, but the guy seems to think he’s being shy and keeps insisting. And a drink, a proper drink, does sound heavenly. So he accepts the bottle, receives another round of claps on his back and he takes a swig.

\---

“Are you alright?”, Nestor asks him in Spanish and hands him the cigarette.

Virgil takes a drag and winces as the smoke tears into his lungs, and nods. Nestor searches his face, he looks sceptical, but he doesn’t press. Virgil hands him back the cigarette.

“Well, we have a lot to thank you for, my friend…”

“You’ve just as much to thank yourself for”, Virgil replies in his broken Spanish.

Nestor smiles though, so he knows the message went through.

They smoke in silence for a while. Virgil feels like he could confide in Nestor, and he’d really like to, because he doesn’t really have any friends, all his friends are more Turk’s friends than his. He’s the bonus friend that you get for hanging out with Turk. And there’s not a single one of them that he feels confident confiding anything to. He could barely talk about the weather with most of them. Nestor isn’t like those guys. But somehow he knows he still shouldn’t tell him anything, so he doesn’t.

Nestor takes a final drag on the cigarette butt and then stomps it out.

“Your friend”, he says. “You are close?”

Virgil meets his gaze. And sees the knowing, but kind look in his eyes. He shrugs, then nods, then shakes his head.

“All at once?” Nestor jokes and gives him a wry smile.

“Pretty much.”

“You like him”, Nestor states then, cutting the bullshit. “He likes you too?”

“No”, Virgil says.

“I think he does.”

“No way… No… he doesn’t even, he’s not…”

Nestor studies him for a minute. Virgil shakes his head.

“I think maybe… yes. You should talk to him.”

“I can’t”, Virgil says.

And he wants to tell Nestor exactly why he can’t, but he likes Nestor, he likes talking to him, he might even consider him a friend, a real friend, and he doesn’t want to ruin that. It was enough of a risk that he’d be put off by the thought of him liking another guy, but if he finds out that him and Turk are brothers… fuck, Virgil thinks. Brothers. I’m so fucked up.

“You should”, Nestor insists. “I see the way he looks at you. I think you’d be surprised.”

“You don’t understand, Nestor… we go way back, we grew up together, I can’t just… you know.”

Nestor shrugs, then claps him on the shoulder. Virgil knows he disagrees, but being the kind guy that he is, the surprisingly sensitive guy that he is, Nestor drops it and just offers his silent support. Yeah, he’s a good friend, Virgil thinks. It feels nice. He’s never had this before. Only with Turk, but that’s hardly the same.

Lately, Virgil can’t even do this with Turk. He can barely bicker with him. Ever since these thoughts started popping up in his head. Ever since he started becoming delusional, because that’s what it must be, because every time Turk looks at him now, Virgil starts imagining things, crazy things. Like Turk’s looking at him differently, fondly, lovingly, or even worse. That doesn’t exactly help things. And Virgil really needs to get over this, too. He’s not going to be able to go back to being brothers until he does. And they’re not the best of friends, but Turk’s all he’s got, and besides the idiots he hangs with when they’re home in Pavo, Virgil’s all Turk has as well.

“Yeah, maybe I do need to talk to him…” he mumbles.

Nestor gives him another smile, a sad one.

He finds his brother outside the factory, drinking with Pablo and Emmanuel. They all cheer at him as he approaches. Virgil smiles tightly and waves back. Nods at the factory workers, and politely shakes his head when Pablo offers him the half-empty tequila bottle.

Turk reaches out and half-pats, half-caress his belly from his seated position on the ground. Virgil smoothly moves out of reach and then grabs his outstretched hand and helps him to his feet. Turk stumbles briefly, but he’s fine to walk on his own, which doesn’t say much about how drunk he is, since he’s far from a light-weight.

“Did you check into a motel yet?” he asks him, and Turk shakes his head. “That’s alright, you can stay in mine, I mean we can share…”

“Alright”, Turk says and shrugs.

They walk side by side, Turk only stumbling sideways occasionally. Virgil tells himself he’s going to talk to him, as soon as they get to the motel, he’s going to sit down and have a talk with his brother. But once inside the room, he finds himself stalling. Then Turk struggles out of his shirt and plops down on the bed.

I can’t do this, Virgil thinks and shuts himself in the bathroom.

He splashes some cold water on his face. Sees the water bottle that he’s left on the side of the sink and brings it out into the room. He puts it down on the bedside table next to where Turk is dozing, then gingerly climbs onto the bed on the other side, careful not to touch.

“You going to sleep?” Turk mumbles.

“Yes”, Virgil mutters. “There’s some water on the bedside table, you should drink it, or you’ll be hungover tomorrow…”

“Oh… thanks, man…”

Virgil just hmphs in reply. He feels his brother’s every movement through the bed. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself to fall asleep. But he can’t.

“We okay?” Turk asks then.

“Go to sleep, Turk…”


	13. The worst moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turk kills the distance between them then, he gets really close, way to close to be comfortable, and Virgil wants to move away, but he can barely breathe, let alone get his feet to move. (Virgil POV / Turk POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE THERE BE MONSTERS...aaaand the can of worms has been opened! This is it, folks! The chapter of no return when it comes to the (twincest) slash. The rating is PG-13 for this particular chapter, but we've moved beyond subtext now. (Also, incidentally, one of my favourite chapters of this fic... besides the awkward conversation between Turk and Nestor, that I might have to edit/remove.)

Virgil’s already up and dressed when Turk wakes up. He squints through the sunlight and the cobwebs in his eyes and sees his blurry silhouette moving about the room, packing by the sounds of it, fretting by the looks…

“Hey”, Turk rasps out.

The blurry silhouette does a half pirouette and stills. Turk guesses he’s turned to face him. Half-heartedly he flattens his hair with a hand and then rubs it across his face.

“Do you need a painkiller”, Virgil asks him, he sounds wide awake.

As his face comes into focus, Turk can see that he looks exhausted and he’s got dark rings under his eyes. He wonders if he’s slept at all.

“Did I keep you up?” he asks.

“No”, Virgil says. “Just… lot of stuff on my mind. And the adrenalin, as well.”

Turk nods, accepts the explanation but only half buys it. He looks around for his shirt, but doesn’t spot it anywhere. Instead there’s a dark blue one neatly folded on the bed, he recognizes it, it’s Virgil’s. He looks up at him. Sees that he’s already changed into a new one, and everything else has been packed into his suitcase.

“Yours was filthy”, Virgil says then, as though reading his mind. “And I figured you didn’t pack anything.”

Turk reaches for the shirt. It’s nice, it’s clean, but it’s not his, and it’s not his size. Plus it’s got long sleeves. He’s torn. He feels Virgil’s eyes on him, and there’s a certain tension in the room suddenly, like the room itself was holding its breath. Turk slides into the shirt without comment. The room exhales again, and Virgil turns back to his suitcase.

“It’s the biggest one I have”, he says.

Turk buttons it up and feels the material stretch across his chest. The top two buttons won’t close, so he leaves them undone. He won’t comment. It’s a nice gesture, and he rather be wearing a shirt that’s too small than one that’s ripe from yesterday. Virgil glances over his shoulder at him, then quickly turns back around.

“Sorry”, he mutters.

“It’s fine”, Turk says.

“Do you want a t-shirt, I think I have a larger one, if you want to wear it underneath, do you?”

“Virg, it’s fine, really.”

Virgil snaps his suitcase shut and turns around to face him completely. He looks like he’s about to say something for a minute, then he looks away and shakes his head slightly instead.

“What?” Turk says.

“We should get going… the factory’s…”

“Yeah, alright, just let me…” he gets off the bed and trots over to the bathroom. “Hey, can I borrow some tooth paste?”

“Fine”, Virgil calls back.

Turk splashes some cold water on his face and use his finger to brush his teeth. There’s something different about his brother lately. He’s more tense and jumpy than usual.

“Hey, Turk…” his voice reaches him from the adjoining room. “Later, do you think we could, you know… talk?”

“About what?” he calls back.

There’s no answer.

He wipes his face off and walks back out into the room. It’s probably his imagination, but Virgil seems to tense up when he sees him. Then he turns away.

“What about?” Turk asks again.

“Just, things… some things I want to run by you, is all… but not now, later.”

Turk doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just shrugs. Virgil looks nervous, though. He can see that. Maybe he’ll tell him why he’s been so off lately, Turk thinks. And as much as he hates to talk about his feelings and all that sharing caring stuff, what he hates even more is not knowing what’s wrong with his brother, and if he’s done something to push him away. So if they can talk about it, and get past it, then he’d love to fucking talk.

“Alright. Later”, he agrees.

“Last night in Mexico”, Virgil adds, and almost smiles at him.

\---

“Last night in Mexico”, Turk echoes, several hours later as they walk out of the factory.

Virgil nods.

As the hours melted away he started to get more and more nervous, until now when he’s regretting ever mentioning the talk to Turk in the first place. The last thing he wants to do is to talk. He wouldn’t know what to say even if he did want to.

Of course, they can’t talk about this. He doesn’t know what he was thinking. If Turk ever finds out what he feels, or thinks he feels, what he’s been thinking and trying not to think, what kind of dreams his twisted mind comes up with in his sleep when he can’t distract it with something else, if he were to find any of it out, he’d never talk to Virgil again.

“Want to go grab a drink?” Turk suggests.

“No”, he says.

“We could go for a coffee-”

“I said no-!”

“Alright! It was just a thought-”

“I want to get an early start tomorrow, and I’m exhausted…”

They walk the rest of the way to the motel in silence. Turk lets Virgil enter the room first, then lingers by the door as he kicks off his shoes and goes to get a bottle of water from the stack on the table. It’s steaming, and he’s wearing a shirt on top of his tee. He tears it off and tosses it on top of his suitcase.

“You okay-?”

“I fucking fine”, Virgil snaps. “Would you quit asking me that!”

“…I’m gonna get something to drink-”

Virgil closes the distance between them in two strides and pushes the door shut again, just as Turk’s turned the handle and pulled it open. Turk slowly tilts his head back and looks at him, looks him right in the eye. Virgil can tell he’s getting fed up. Not frustrated or agitated, but fed up. That’s rare.

“Virgil…” he murmurs.

“I’m not driving the whole way. You can’t get drunk, you’ll be too hung over to drive the truck.”

Turk looks down, nods, and lets go of the door handle. He walks, very deliberately over to the bed, toes off his shoes, and sits down with his back against the headboard.

“You wanted to talk”, he says.

Virgil shakes his head, feeling faint. Water, he reminds himself. He searches for the bottle with his eyes, finds it over by the TV and goes to grab it. Turk’s eyes are on him as he drinks, but he ignores it. Gulps down half. Then catches his breath, before holding the bottle out.

“I’m fine”, Turk says. “Thank you. And yes, you wanted to talk.”

“No, I don’t”, Virgil repeats.

Turk swings his legs over the bed and stands up. Virgil doesn’t try to stop him this time as he walks over to the door and wrenches it open.

\---

Turk feels like a big baby as the door slams shut behind him. He’s not going to go get a drink. But he needs some space, some fresh air, he needs to clear his head for a minute. He paces the parking lot, cursing under his breath.

“Virgil’s friend”, a heavy-accented voice interrupts him.

He spins around and catches sight of Virgil’s Mexican friend, Nestor. He raises a hand in greeting, tries to smile as well but doesn’t think it really comes off right.

Nestor seems to hesitate, then takes a few steps closer to him. Turk wishes he would just keep walking, he’s in no mood to chit-chat, especially with some guy he barely even knows. But it’s not this guy’s fault Turk’s brother is being impossible, so he forces himself to be nice. Nestor seems to be searching his face.

“You fight?”

“What?”

“Virgil and you fight?”

“Oh! No, nono, just, I can’t sleep and I didn’t want to disturb him, so…”

“But you talk?”

“Huh?”

“You two talk now?”

What does this guy know, Turk wonders. It’s not like Virgil to confide in strangers, especially if he can’t even talk to Turk about it, yet this guy clearly seems to know something Turk doesn’t.

“He didn’t tell you?” Nestor insists.

“Tell me what”, Turk snaps, he’s getting sick and tired of all the mind games.

“Oh, not for me to say…”

“What are you talking about, please-!”

“No, no, please… talk to your friend. He has something to tell you. I promise.”

“My- My friend? Has something to tell me?”

“Yes”, Nestor nods resolutely.

“What, like a secret…?” Turk says and grins, working the charm, but Nestor just smirks back at him, clearly unaffected. “Come on, I hate surprises… I promise I won’t tell him you told me-”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Well, do you know what it is? Will I like it, or will I get upset, or what do you think? At least help me prepare a little… Look, he’s asleep now, and I’m not a very patient guy, this will drive crazy if I have to wait til morning…”

Nestor studies him silently for a moment.

“You been friends a long time. He tells me you grow up together.”

“Yeah”, Turk mumbles. “Yeah, we’ve known each other all our lives. He’s all I got, and, I think, I’m all he’s got… look, whatever it is, I promise I won’t freak out or anything, just tell me so I can at least get some sleep tonight… otherwise, I’ll have to go wake him up!”

“Yes”, Nestor says after a moment. “I think wake him up. Talk to him. I think… yes, I think you will like the secret… I think… you have same secret.”

“…what?”

Nestor just smirks at him again, then gives him a little wave and walks off.

\---

The door opens. Virgil looks up, hopeful and worried all at once. Turk meets his gaze, then turns away. He gently shuts the door and locks it. He looks sober, Virgil notices. Sober and calm.

“Hey”, he says. “You’re back…”

“Yeah”, Turk says. “Just needed to cool off.”

“Oh…”

Turk looks at him again. Virgil is still standing we he was when he stormed out, only now he’s leaning back against the wall. He wishes now he’d have sat down. Somehow, it feels too late to do that.

“We need to talk, don’t we”, Turk says.

“No”, Virgil says. “No, I don’t, I mean I did but I don’t anymore, I changed my mind, so unless there‘s something on your mind, we‘re good…”

“No. We’re not. And you need to tell me what’s up with you, because I’m about to flip…”

“It doesn’t matter, it’s stupid…”

Turk kills the distance between them then, he gets really close, way to close to be comfortable, and Virgil wants to move away, but he can barely breathe, let alone get his feet to move.

“It’s stupid, it’s nothing”, he keeps babbling. “It’s just these thoughts, I mean dreams, that I’ve been having, I haven’t been sleeping right, and it’s the stress too I think, and I wanted to get your input is all, but I changed my mind, it doesn’t matter anymore…”

“What kind of thought?” Turk murmurs, his eyes too focused for Virgil’s liking, too close and too penetrating.

“Dreams”, he corrects.

Turk just nods, sideways, once. Like he’s relenting, like he’s saying fine, whatever you want to call it. Virgil swallows, but it doesn’t get the lump away from his throat. He wonders if Turk can tell that he’s shaking. He’s standing close enough. Virgil can almost feel his body heat, or maybe that’s his sick mind playing another trick on him. He does feel his breath, though, he’s suddenly aware. It hits him in warm waves against his chin.

“You drive me crazy, you know that”, Turk mutters.

“What…”

Then Turk is backing up a step and averting his eyes. Virgil feels suddenly cold, and he reacts before he has time to think it through, or think at all, he reaches out. He grabs the fabrics on top of Turk’s shoulder, fists it, pulls, and then Turk is pushing against him, and the next thing he knows his mouth is on Turk’s and Turk’s got him pushed up against the wall, hands flat on either side of his shoulders. He’s trembling all over with the effort to keep himself upright. There’s a warm tingle in his lips and Turk’s tongue nudges them open. Turk’s fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp. Turk’s chest against his chest, heart beating against heart. Turk’s hard-on pressing against his thigh-

He moans into his brother’s mouth. There’s so many things wrong about that sentence, he thinks. But he doesn’t care. He puts his arms around Turk’s body, hugs him closer, closer, how close can you get?

Turk then wrenches his mouth away, hot bursts of air hits Virgil on the side of the mouth. They stare into each others’ eyes. Turk’s are heavy-lidded, but clear. He blinks, swallows, then lets his hands slide out of Virgil’s hair and down his arms until they’re not touching at all.

Virgil feels colder than he’s ever felt. He even shivers. The lump in his throat is back, bigger, sharper. He looks away. Carefully, he leans away from the wall. His legs are shaky, but he’s fine. That’s what he tells himself, over and over, I’m fine.

“Virgil…” Turk murmurs.

“Yeah”, he croaks back.

“I…”

After a while, Virgil has to look at him. He has to memorize every detail of this moment. His entire world is shattering, only mid-shatter someone pressed paused, and now he’s looking at all the angles, he’s holding the remote control, he can hit slow motion, or just play and get it over with. What he can’t do is rewind. And that sort of defeats the purpose of having a remote in the first place, but at least he gets a good look at what his heartbreak really looks like. Because this is his first, and he doubts there will ever be one that could top it, so this is it. The worst moment of his life.

Turk is pale. He looks crestfallen, or maybe scared.

Virgil shakes his head to clear it. Brushes passed his brother and sinks down on the bed.

“Virg, we need to talk.”

“On second thought, why don’t we get drunk…”

“Come on, man. I’m… I didn’t…”

“What”, Virgil murmurs. “You didn’t what?”

“I don’t know, mean to do that.”

“Yeah”, Virgil huffs, laughs almost. “Yeah, I figured… look, I knew this would be a bad idea, I’m fucked up or something, clearly, and I don’t want to burden you with it-”

“Wait, what-?”

“It’s why I decided it was a bad idea to talk, I knew it’d just… fuck with my head-”

“Virg-”

“I’m fucking sorry, Turk-!”

“Hey!…”

Turk moves over to him, he kneels down on the floor in front of him, his hands are on Virgil’s knees, rubbing slightly. He’s peering into his face, trying to catch his eyes, but Virgil puts a hand over them, doesn’t want his brother to see him cry.

“Hey…” Turk says again, his voice almost soothing.

Then there’s a warm pressure against the back of Virgil’s hand, he realizes it’s Turk covering it with his own, fingers sliding into place ext to each other. The other hand moves up his back and rests in the nape of his neck, fingers grazing his hair line, thumb stroking tense muscles in the neck.

“I kissed you”, Turk whispers. “It was me. Why are you sorry…”

“You did that out of instinct”, Virgil mutters miserably.

He hears Turk snorts, or maybe it’s a chuckle. The hand covering his own moves away, then he feels the bed dip as his brother positions himself behind him, and he starts massaging his shoulders gently.

“What instinct would that be… ‘cause I never heard of that one before”, he says.

“I pulled you, I was being delusional and I thought, so I grabbed and pulled you, and I didn’t mean to… Fuck, I’ve been fantasizing about it for weeks, months, I don’t know what happened, I don’t know how I came to be this twisted, this sick…”

“You’re not sick, bro…” Turk murmurs, voice really close to the back of Virgil’s ear.

“You have no idea”, Virgil murmurs thickly.

“Yeah, I do”, Turk replies immediately.

“You’re my brother…”

“Yeah… always has been, always will be-”

Virgil shifts around on the bed and turns to face his brother then. Turk looks drawn, but not upset. Not angry, at least. Not disgusted or alarmed.

“I have bad thoughts about you”, he says, slowly, clearly.

Something in Turk’s face shifts, but it’s hard to say what. It’s like he flinched, but he did it just when Virgil blinked, so he didn’t really see it.

“How bad”, Turk quips and smirks at him.

“Bad”, Virgil states, in no mood for games.

Turk looks down, nods. He reaches out with his hand, fingers gently brushing over Virgil’s knuckles. Then he moves away, he scrambles up to the headboard and leans back. Virgil watches him, trying to read any expression on his face, but it’s closed off.

“Me too”, Turk says after a while.

They stare at each other. A couple of tears break loose when Virgil blinks and he absently wipes them off his face with his hand. He gets up and walk into the bathroom, needs to think, needs to clear his head, brush his teeth.

When he imagined this talk, all the times he imagined this talk, it always ended in either some Harlequin frenzy, or a fist fight that left them both bloody and walking their separate ways… somehow, reality has settled exactly between. And Virgil thinks this is almost worse than the fight.


	14. When in Vegas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The suite is surreally quiet when the brothers walk in, adding to the thick silence already stewing between them. They’ve avoided looking directly at each other ever since they went to bed in that motel room in Mexico. (Virgil POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex! Not very graphic, but sex nontheless. So somewhere between PG-13 and whatever the next rating is. I don't think it needs an NC-17... or does it? Meh, twincestuous sex, we'll give it a NC-17! (just don't be disappointed if you're expecting porn or something, because it won't be!)

The suite is surreally quiet when the brothers walk in, adding to the thick silence already stewing between them. They’ve avoided looking directly at each other ever since they went to bed in that motel room in Mexico, went to sleep, facing away from each other. But they’re still acutely aware of each other. It’s like their bodies have been re-programmed to tune into the other’s presence. Even when Turk is somewhere behind him, Virgil can feel him moving, and he just knows which side of the room he’s on despite the carpet muffling any footsteps. And Turk is being unusually quiet too, which in itself is spooky.

Virgil puts his bag down on the bed and turns around to look at his brother.

Turk is fidgeting and avoiding his gaze, fiddling with an earpiece for his next costume. There’s an identical one still on the table. The black suits to go with them are draped across the back of the sofa.

It’s absurd, but Virgil’s pulse is pit-a-patting like a Duracell bunny’s drumsticks and his fingertips are tingling; he hasn’t been this nervous since he lost his virginity to Ms Landon behind the bleachers after gym class in 8th grade. And even then he was clear-headed enough to form coherent sentences, whereas now, he seems to draw a complete blank beyond noticing the tension in his brother’s shoulders, then noticing the broadness of those same shoulders, and the thickness of his biceps, and the largeness of his hands, and finally remembering what those hands feel like.

He clears his throat, just to break the silence.

Turk immediately looks up, like he was just waiting for a signal, even though he was the one who wasn’t ready to talk about, and his gaze falls from Virgil’s face to where he’s put the bag and then flits away completely. Virgil thinks he might even have blushed, but he can’t be sure. It could be the tan he got in Mexico standing out in this dim light. But just the possibility of Turk blushing has him imagining what could make him blush. He looks down at the bed behind him and immediately his mind starts whirring with images of what could be done on it. But it’s not until he starts wondering which images Turk might have come up with, that he himself blushes. And there’s a tingling sensation in his belly, that filters down, and he feels himself harden slightly. He thinks he should feel bad about that. He should feel wrong, dirty… and thinking this way doesn’t help, apparently.

“You… tired?” Turk offers, too casual and too polite to be comfortable for either of them.

“What”, Virgil says, because he can’t think of anything else to say.

“We should see if the suits fit”, Turk mumbles in a rush and turns away so that Virgil can’t see his face anymore.

It’s oddly disconcerting. For some reason, Virgil needs to know what his brother is thinking, what he’s feeling. Maybe all those thoughts of guilt and regret that he’s still waiting for, maybe they’ve all gone to Turk, maybe he’s consumed by them and maybe he feels like he’ll never be able to look at Virgil again, either way Virgil needs to know. They were never the best of friends, they never really even got along, but they are brothers, twin brothers even, and they’ve gone through everything together since the day they were born. It’s not good or bad, it just is, and suddenly Virgil is gripped by a chilling fear that maybe he’s gone and ruined all that, maybe he’s fucked up the one constant in his life.

“Turk”, he says.

“Yeah?” Turk chirps, still not looking his way.

“Hey, Turk…”

“Yeah! What?”

Virgil can’t imagine life without Turk. Not in a romantic way, that life wouldn’t be worth living without him in it, that he’d be incomplete without him, he just can’t imagine it. Although the part about being incomplete does hit closer to home than he’d like to think of right now.

“What”, Turk repeats.

“Would you look at me.”

Turk half-laughs as he turns around but there’s no amusement in the sound, or in his face as he meets Virgil’s gaze again, almost defiantly.

“What is it, Virgil.”

“I just wanted to ask you… I just wanted to know, if you… you know, do you regret it?”

He clears his throat again and shifts his weight.

Turk just stares at him.

“Well?” he presses, trying to ignore the heat in his cheeks.

“Well what, what am I supposed to say?”

“What do you mean what are you supposed to say, it’s not a trick question, either you regret it or you don’t.”

“Do you?”

“I asked you first!”

“I don’t know! It happened. We both… did things… we both knew what we were doing, and now it’s done. What’s there to regret?”

“So you’re okay with what happened?”

“I didn’t say that.”

There’s a deafening pause where they keep staring at each other. Virgil doesn’t know what else to say, but he’s frozen in place and can’t seem to tear his eyes away, until Turk blinks, and it’s like a spell has been broken.

Virgil looks down as Turk continues talking.

“Not regretting and being okay with it, isn’t the same thing… you know…”

Virgil nods. The carpet seems to throb, to taunt him, it swims before his eyes, coming in and out of focus as he tries to keep his breathing stable and his pulse down. He feels cold all of the sudden.

He turns around and starts rummaging through his bag for a sweater, he knows he packed one, maybe he left it in Mexico.

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that-”

When Turk takes a few steps closer to him, Virgil feels it. His brother’s presence pressing against his nerve bundles, sending shocks of electricity through his body and making his muscles tense, his gut clench.

“Are you cold? I’m feeling cold-” he mumbles and moves around the bed and starts rummaging through another bag that isn’t even his.

Turk keeps closing the distance between them, until he’s right there, on the edge of Virgil’s personal space. It freaks him out a little, the effect it has on him, this close proximity. And he wonders, if Turk would ever be willing to go back to how things were, if he’d even be able to.

“I didn’t mean to say I wasn’t okay with it” Turk says. “Virgil. Did you hear me?”

“I’m not deaf, Turk.”

“What I meant to say was that I don’t know if I’m okay with it yet-”

“Right”, Virgil says and shoves the bag aside. It’s Rusty’s. Like he’d ever be caught dead wearing anything of his, cold or not.

Turk reaches out to grab his shoulder, and Virgil flinches. Turk immediately takes a step back and shoves his hands into his pockets. Virgil turns around and looks at him.

“You don’t know if you’re okay with what happened in Mexico”, he repeats calmly, imagining he sees Turk shiver slightly. “I get it. I guess, let me know when you do know.”

Turk’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down, he clears his throat gently, and breathes in through his nose.

“I would, but it kinda depends on you”, he says.

“What does?”

Turks shrugs awkwardly, and he definitely blushes this time.

“I’m okay with what happened, if you’re okay… with it…”

Virgil feels the air go out of him. He’s relieved, yes, but on the other hand he’s still waiting for the second shoe to drop, for the freak-out to get its act together, like he knows he isn’t okay with any of this but his brain just hasn’t caught up yet.

Turk looks away, out the window, but he doesn’t turn away completely, body and all, like before. It’s a compromise. And he keeps talking, Virgil knows it’s more to do with keeping the silence at bay than getting stuff off his chest, but he’s grateful, even though the whole situation is unreal, and just a bit scary.

“I started having these… feelings… these thoughts about you”, Turk says. “When we were in Amsterdam, well the feelings probably came way before then, since I was, I don’t know, jealous or whatever when- doesn’t matter”, Turk mumbles.

Virgil feels out of breath, and his heart is hammering in his chest, it’s like his body is under the impression that it’s just finished a work out session or something. Turk looks over at him again.

“But by the time we were in Amsterdam“, he ploughs on. “It became clear to me what I was feeling, and I was freaking out about it, I don’t deny that, but in Mexico… what we talked about… and did… I-”

Virgil licks his lips, trying to stay focused, heart doing a half-spin when Turk’s eyes flickers down to his mouth and sort of glazes over.

I did that, Virgil thinks, almost proudly.

He dares a step closer to his brother. Turk looks up into his eyes again, but he still has that glazed over look about him, and his pupils are slightly dilated, like he’s high. When he’s this close to him, Virgil realizes that Turk’s breath is just as shallow as his own. He takes another step closer, hoping to feel his body heat too.

“I…”

“What?” Virgil murmurs.

Watching Turk’s eye lashes close-up as they flutter down, Turk being distracted by his mouth again, Virgil can’t help himself, he sneaks his tongue out to swipe across his bottom lip again.

Turk releases a shaky breath. Virgil imagines he can feel the warmth of it against his neck and chin.

“I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean”, Turk continues.

Virgil leans down a little, then in a little, closer still, he shifts his shoulder slightly to the side, and they almost come together, almost, they’re like magnets fighting the pull of each other. This time, when Turk speaks, the words hit Virgil in warm spurts against the side of his mouth.

“I didn’t do anything I didn’t want to do.”

“What about now?” Virgil murmurs, voice all croaky with tension.

“What about now?”

“What about what we’re doing now?”

“Were not doing anything now.”

“Yeah, but do you want to?”

It’s hard to say who kisses who. It’s more like they both give in to the pull, finally, and just fuse together, from their lips down to their hips. Virgil cups Turk’s face with both hands, fingers reaching behind his ears to rub tiny circles into his scalp.

When Turk’s hands settle on his waist, those big, strong hands, so close, Virgil presses his hips harder against him, pushing into him, hard-on rubbing up against his brother, against his hard-on, the sensation incredible. He moans into the kiss.

When they break apart for air, they’re both panting. Virgil lingers close, resting his forehead against Turk’s, eyes still shut, to hold onto the sensation a little longer, or to steel himself, still waiting for that second shoe.

“Does that-” Turk starts.

“Don’t-!”

“-answer your question?”

Virgil chuckles and straightens up, their foreheads disconnecting, and he opens his eyes again. Turk is smirking. His hands are still resting on Virgil’s hips, thumbs idly stroking their way in under the hem of his shirt and grazing bare skin.

Turk looks down, the smirk twitching and almost becoming a smile, and if he was anyone else, Virgil would have thought he was being shy, or embarrassed, or coy. He reaches up and drags his fingertips down his scalp and neck, relishing in the tiny goose bumps that erupts there. Part of him wants to lean in and taste them. Another part of him thinks he’s still fucking up, still ruining the one constant in his life.

“I still think you’re an idiot”, he says and lets his hands rest on top of Turk’s shoulder.

When Turk looks up there’s a familiar glint in his eyes.

“I still think you’re an animal.”

“If you start singing Bloodhound gang…” Virgil warns.

“Shut up. And-!”

“Make-”

“-if you sa-!”

“-me! What, if I say what?”

“You know what, you fucking cliché. Come here-”

Virgil smiles and leans down to capture his brother’s lower lip between his own, sucking lightly on it, then swiping his tongue over it, tickling the inside of his upper lip, lapping up all the little moans escaping from within the mouth. Turk’s grip on his hips tightens and he backs him up against the wall, hard enough to knock the wind out of him, but not enough to make their teeth clash. Turk’s tongue nudges his own. The hands on his waist squeezes him, thumbs swiping down his hip bones, then they travel down to his fly.

Virgil wrenches out of the kiss and slams his head back against the wall.

“Wait”, he gasps.

He grabs Turk’s hands and holds them still.

“Wait”, he mumbles again.

“What, what, what is it”, Turk mumbles, while he nuzzles Virgil’s chest, nose rubbing against his breast bone, lips brushing over his right nipple, Virgil groans.

“Slow down?” Turk mumbles.

He kisses the nipple through the shirt, fabric dampening slightly, hot air soaked up in it.

“No, nonono, just… just…”

The mouth disappears from his chest, and he whimpers before he can stop himself, the damp patch over his nipple immediately cools down.

“You want to stop?”

“Fuck no!”, Virgil breathes out, but when the hands on his fly starts working on the buttons again, he pushes away from the wall and backs Turk up a couple of paces, and, “Wait, wait, wait, hold on…”

“Jesus, what.”

“Just hold on!”

“Fuck, Virgil-!”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking!”

“…you, what?”

“We have a bed now, is what I’m trying to say, we should-”

“Oh, right, we have a bed-”

“use it, don’t you think?”

“Right. Right… you’re right.”

“What was that?” Virgil teases, smiling, stalling, despite the hardness pressing against the fabric of his jeans and bordering on painful. “Say that again, I’m what?”

“You’re an idiot, alright. Now get those goddamn pants off and get on the bed-!”

“You get them off-”

“I’ve been trying-!”

Virgil slams his mouth against Turk’s, whatever he was going to say next, he swallows greedily and he walks them over to the edge of the bed, without breaking the kiss, and pushes Turk down on it. He puts his elbow down next to his head, holding himself up so as not to squish him he hovers over him, the only parts of their bodies actually touching their mouths and their legs.

Turk’s arms snakes up, hands trailing up his thighs to his arse, squeezing slightly, then pulling down hard. Virgil hmphs in protest, but Turk’s stronger, and he collapses on top of him, hips to hips, and it feels amazing. He extends his arm and pushes his upper body up, breaking the kiss as he does, and Turk huffs but then smirks up at him.

Virgil has to take a couple of breaths before he can talk, meanwhile, Turk’s hands seem happy to stay where they are, cupping his butt, and consequently pushing their hips, and hard-ons, together. 

“Aren’t I-?”

“You’re not that heavy, sweetheart.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure, with you being so little-!”

“Little? Really?”

Turk’s hands squeeze his buttocks again, and he gyrates his hips up, creating a perfect amount of friction in just the right places, heat pooling between them, pulsing with pleasure.

Virgil lies back down and buries his face in the crook of Turk’s neck and groans. Turk chuckles, turning his head a little, so that his breath ghosts over Virgil’s jawbone.

“Maybe not all of you”, Virgil admits.

“Sweet of you to notice”, Turk mumbles.

Then he lets go of Virgil’s arse and pushes him off to the side until he’s on his back. Turk straddles his hips like he’s done it a million times, and bends down to trail kisses down the side of his neck, whilst unbuttoning his shirt.

Virgil wants to touch him everywhere all at once, and not knowing where to start, his hands end up irresolute on top of his brother’s thighs.

When all the buttons have come apart, Turk flicks the material aside. His gaze swipes over the exposed skin, and he swallows. Then he looks up into Virgil’s face.

“Just tell me if you want to stop.”

“Shut up.”

Turk smirks, “Alright…”

And then he’s bending down again, mouth seemingly everywhere at once, nipping, lapping, kissing, blowing, brushing. His stubble grazing across Virgil’s skin. And Virgil is writhing and panting within seconds. His hands leave his brother’s thighs and fly up to grab a hold of the fabric of his t-shirt sleeves, but gets distracted by the hard muscles underneath, and start kneading them instead.

Again, fingers are working his fly, the top button coming apart, then the second. The mouth is licking and sucking around his belly button, around his right hipbone, third button comes undone, and Virgil feels Turk’s nose nuzzling the soft hairs that trail down from his belly-button. The mouth is kissing the waistband of his briefs, hot air reaching through to skin, teeth nipping at the fabric.

“Wait”, he gasps.

Turk puts his head down, his cheekbone sliding into place just under Virgil’s hipbone, and he lets out a shaky breath that washes over Virgil’s erection. Virgil hisses in response.

“That is my new least favourite word”, Turk mutters.

“Have you done this before?”

Turk’s head pops up then and he looks at Virgil. The image is too surreal to even take in. But surreally arousing at the same time. Turk raises an eye brow.

“Have I given my brother a blowjob before?”

Virgil swallows, “Haa-haa… The other thing.”

“What other thing?”

“You know…”

Turk searches his eyes for a second, then realisation seems to strike him, and he moves back up Virgil’s body until they’re face to face. Virgil is holding his breath without even realising it, until Turk gives him a look and he lets it out. Turk smiles fondly and plants a shallow kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“We don’t have to do that”, he says.

“Oh… I didn’t mean-”

“I know.”

“I was just-”

“I get it. But I’m not blowing you just so you’ll let me fuck you. Okay?”

“O-okay…”

“And anyway I think we should take it slow. That okay?”

“Yeah okay”, Virgil whispers.

Breathing comes easier to him all of the sudden. Something unknots in his chest. He doesn’t know if he’s relieved that they’re taking this one step at a time, or to learn that there even is an it and Turk expects to do this again. He licks his lips.

“So… the first question then, minus the brother part”, he says.

“Ah. Ehh, no. No I haven’t. But I’ve been given a few, so I think I’m good to improvise… if you‘ll let me get on with it.”

“Alright then, get on with it.”

Turk grins and bends down to bite Virgil lightly on the neck. Then he scrambles back down his body, leaving sloppy kisses along the way, and dragging his hands over his arms and chest, fingers rolling over nipples, pinching carefully.

“There’s no way you haven’t done this before”, Virgil hisses breathlessly.

“Well, I’ve done this”, Turk mutters. “It’s not that much of a diff-”

“If you call me a girl right now, I swear to God-”

Turk chuckles and drags his teeth across his abdomen. Then he grabs Virgil’s waistband and pulls down, jeans and briefs all at once. He nuzzles the inside of his thigh, and there’s an absurd sensation when the side of his head brushes the root of Virgil’s cock. It throbs in response. Turk turns his head, his shallow breaths hitting Virgil’s balls. Then he’s nuzzling the side of his cock instead. And Virgil screws his eyes shut, because it makes it easier to just feel, because watching his brother as he starts kissing his way up to the tip is just too much and he wouldn’t last more than three seconds flat, because his vision is all fucked anyway.

Virgil breathes noisily, tries not to, tries not to whimper and moan too much, tries and fails.

There’s an absurd explosion of pleasure welling up inside of him as Turk’s mouth closes over the head of his cock and sucks, then there’s a flick of tongue along the edge. His best orgasms haven’t felt this good. He thinks he might have uttered a string of curses out loud, he’s not sure, his voice isn’t his anymore, or he’s not in control of it anyway, nor his breathing.

His body is on fire.

He claps his hand over his eyes, like that will hide him from the world, like that will make the pleasure any less excruciating.

Turk takes him into his mouth, halfway, and drags his tongue across the underside, sucks.

Virgil curses again, then babbles uncontrollably until the mouth leaves him completely, replaced by one of those large, strong hands, that starts pumping him idly while Turk hushes him. Virgil nods and bites down on his lower lip. The hand on his cock tightens its grip briefly, and Turk curses, but unlike Virgil he does so under his breath, not at the top of his lungs.

“If you knew how hot you look right now”, he murmurs thickly.

Then his mouth joins his hand. And Virgil’s brain shuts off. Then there’s just sensation. Just heat, burning, wet heat, and electric jolts of pleasure, and a building tightness that makes his skin prickle, and he‘s aware of every square inch of his body, more aware than he‘s ever been in his entire life, feeling every single little hair, every pore. And he has to bite down on his hand instead of his lip to keep quiet.

Gradually Turk swallows him down, hands pressing his hips firmly down as a pre-caution as he works out how to deep-throat without gagging, and once he’s swallowed all of Virgil and has the tip of his nose buried in the soft hairs on his abdomen, he swallows. One of the hands holding Virgil’s hips in place trails down to his nutsack and cups it, massaging gently. When it tightens against his palm, Turk starts sliding his mouth up again, sucking all the way, tongue dragging across the underside, then flicking the tip quickly before he moves away and sits back, presumably to watch Virgil as the orgasm washes over him.

Turk’s hands caresses Virgil’s thighs, almost comfortingly, as he comes. And he’s muttering something, Virgil can’t really catch the words, but his voice is soothing, and thick with awe.

Virgil is trembling all over. The hand over his mouth falls away, but he keeps the other one over his eyes. His chest rises up and down as he tries to catch his breath, tries to get his brain up and running again.

When one of Turk’s hands slides up to his belly and touches his come, he pushes the hand covering his eyes up to his forehead and blinks, then peers down. He sees Turk with a hungry look on his face, smearing come all over Virgil’s chest, and he swallows thickly. 

Turk glances up at him, a glint in his eyes that is familiar and completely new at the same time. And the small smile on his face, that’s new too, secretive, and almost fond.

“You can be loud”, he murmurs like it’s the most coolest secret and Virgil has just shared it with him, and him alone.

“Sorry”, Virgil rasps.

Turk scrambles up his body, eyes still shining, and he settles down next to him, nuzzling the side of Virgil’s face as he shakes his head.

“Makes me wish we had our own room”, he mumbles.

Virgil turns to his side and cups his brother’s head with one hand, leaning in to capture his lips. They kiss gently for a long moment, just kissing, just tasting each other and mapping out the shape of each others mouths, memorising the texture of the other’s lips.

Virgil is the one to break it.

“My turn?” he asks.

“You’re spent”, Turk counters with a teasing smile.

“I’m alright”, Virgil insists, even as he feels himself growing heavier, and his eyelids drooping.

Turk chuckles and pinches him lightly in the side.

“Hey”, Virgil protests quietly, squirming away. “Tha’ tickl’s…”

“Sorry”, Turk whispers back, but sounds nothing like it.

Virgil snakes his arm in under Turk’s neck and hugs him closer. He feels Turk’s arms moving around them, and then something, probably a blanket, covers the lower parts of their bodies. Then Turk’s head settles on Virgil’s chest, his arm over his waist, fingers tucked in between his back and the bed.

The next thing Virgil knows, he’s lying on his side on the bed. Alone. He breathes in deeply through his nose and flops over to his back as he pushes himself up to a half-sitting position and squints out into the room through the cobwebs in his eyes.

He shoots up completely when Rusty and Reuben come into view, and moves to cover himself, only to realize that he’s wearing his jeans again and his shirt is buttoned up nicely.

“Hey, look who’s up”, Rusty comments.

Virgil drags a hand over his face, and tries to flatten his hair down while he’s at it, knowing it’s probably sticking up on all sides.

“Where’s Turk?” he croaks, then clears his throat.

“Bathroom. You ready?” Reuben says.

“Ready?”

Just then the bathroom door opens and Turk walks out into the room. Their eyes lock immediately. Turk smirks secretively at him, and Virgil feels his cheeks heat up slightly.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty”, Turk says, his voice impossibly normal under the circumstances, and he even winks discretely.

“Hey”, Virgil mutters and looks away before Rusty or Reuben notices the building blush in his face. He scrambles off the bed, hand smoothing down the shirt front.

“If you wanna clean up, hurry, ‘cause we need to get going”, Turk says.

Virgil nods and starts walking across the room. His pulse inadvertly quickens as he passes his brother on the way to the bathroom, and his quickly sneaks inside, shutting the door behind him. He rests his hands against the edge of the sink and takes a couple of deep breaths. Looking up into the mirror he almost laughs.

Can we say, Just been fucked, he thinks to himself and turns the faucet on.

He splashes some water on his face and then wets his hair to make it lie down as well. Then he unbuttons his shirt to clean himself off, only to discover that there’s not a trace of come anywhere on him, and there’s none on his shirt either.

It’s only logical that Turk must have wiped him off before getting him dressed, but for some reason, the thought is just too absurd. Virgil glances at himself in the mirror again.

What are we getting ourselves into, he thinks.

Then there’s a couple of loud knocks on the bathroom door, tearing him out of his thoughts.

“Come on, Sweetheart”, Turk’s voice reaches him through the wood. “Time to go. Let’s go!”

Virgil takes one more steadying breath, then opens the door, smirking at how Turk’s gaze is automatically drawn to his naked chest and how he has to whip his head around to avoid drinking it in.

“Here’s your suit”, he says and hands over the other black suit, without looking at him.

Virgil takes it and he shrugs off the shirt he’s wearing right there on the spot. Turk quickly moves away from him and fiddles with the loose tie around his neck, fingers trembling slightly and making it even harder than he normally finds it.

Virgil shrugs on the white dress shirt instead and puts his own tie around his neck as he starts to unbutton his jeans.

“Need help with that?” he asks, tricking Turk into looking over at him and has to bite the inside of his cheek to not giggle when Turk instantly whips his head away again and by the looks of it silently cursing Virgil.

“Okay, ladies”, Reuben interrupts. “Get your dresses on, it’s time to go.”

Virgil smiles to himself and pulls his jeans off, then steps into the black dress pants. He grabs the jacket and shrugs it on as he walks towards the door. Turk joins him, and he allows his shoulder to knock into his briefly.

Turk glares at him and opens the door.

Virgil chuckles and follows him out into the corridor.

When the door is closed again, Turk steps up close to him, and points a threatening finger in his face.

“You…” he murmurs quietly. “Will pay for that… later.”

Virgil just grins back and leans down and kisses him quickly. Then, “Do you want me to help you tie that, though?”

Turk huffs, then looks away, licking his lips, then sighs. “…yes” he admits reluctantly.

“Alright”, Virgil mumbles and grabs both ends of the tie and make them criss-cross. Turk glances at him, like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. Virgil meets his gaze and smiles.

“You’re such a girl”, Turk mutters.

“Shut up”, Virgil says.

He adjusts the knot at his brother’s neck. Then he smoothes his hand down the tie, briefly, before he takes a step back.

Down to business, the brothers slide into character, squaring their shoulders, and putting in their real ear pieces, as well as the prop ones. Nodding once to each other, they start walking down the hall, side by side, falling into the same rhythm without even thinking about it.


	15. In uniform

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I just realized something”, Virgil murmurs, his voice a raspy growl. (Turk’s POV during the security guard’s scam and after they’ve bolted)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another lame sex scene up ahead! You're warned.

The door opens and the poor man looks out at them, almost hopeful. He’s wearing a bathrobe and a terrible rash covers half his face, and from what Turk can see, it stretches down his throat and neck all the way to his chest. He feels rather awful about the whole thing.

When Virgil starts talking, he turns his back to the man and focuses on staying in character. Interrupting rudely, and letting more and more aggression seep into his voice. Next to him, Virgil catches on in the blink of an eye, a tension settling over his shoulders that Turk immediately recognises as anger.

“Pack your things, or we’ll pack them for you”, Turk bites out. “Fifteen minutes! Hey, fifteen minutes!”

“Pack your things!” Virgil spits out before the man has a chance to say anything else, voice simmering with repressed rage, that would scare Turk too if he didn‘t know his brother‘s bark was worse than his bite. “Pack your things!”

“Alright! Okay!” the man says.

The moment the door closes, the brothers bolt down the hallway.

Rounding the corner, Virgil slows down and grabs Turk by the shoulder. Turk turns to him to check and see if he’s okay, but before he has a chance to give him a once-over or say anything, the fiery look in his brother’s eyes registers and his heart skips a beat. The fingers on his shoulder tighten their grip, and then he’s spun around and pushed up against the wall.

“Fuck”, he hisses.

Virgil’s face is inches from his own. He can feel his breath on his face. There’s a glint in his eyes.

“What are you doing?” Turk murmurs, looking down the hallway in both directions.

Virgil grins, it’s far from amused, more like predatory. Turk feels himself harden, the pants that were tight as it was hugging him painfully. He shifts his weight, and swallows a groan. Virgil grabs the top button of Turk’s shirt, it’s a microphone, and he clicks it off. Then he switches off his own as well.

“Guys, what’s going on?”, Rusty’s voice buzzes through their ear pieces. “Virgil? Turk? Anyone got a twenty on Virgil and Turk, I think we lost them-”

“I just realized something”, Virgil murmurs, his voice a raspy growl that shoots straight to Turk’s cock, and Turk bangs his head back against the wall, knowing his brother’s is doing this, all this, on purpose, just to watch him squirm.

He bucks against him, and realizes too late what a counter-productive solution that was, as his hard-on rubs against his brother’s leg. He pushes forward with his shoulders instead, but Virgil manages to hold him in place. Where he’s found the strength in the past hour, Turk doesn’t know, but he collapses back against the wall and let’s his eyes flutter closed for a moment, composing himself.

“I just realized”, Virgil continues. “How sexy you look in uniform…”

Turk’s eyes shoot open again and he gives Virgil an incredulous look. He looks down the hallway on either side of them again. Anyone could show up, at any moment, any of the guys, the poor bastard in 1706, or anyone else for that matter, any unsuspecting hotel guest, with his luck an old lady and her little innocent grandkids. He takes a deep, ragged breath. 

“It’s just a suit”, he says.

Virgil just keeps grinning, and slowly he leans in close, his nose brushing against Turk’s cheek. His breath tickles Turk’s jaw line, and then his earlobe.

“It looks good on you”, Virgil whispers.

Turk swears under his breath.

“You know, I never did return the favour before…”

“Christ, Virgil”, Turk gasps. “We’re in the middle of the hallway!”

“I know…”

When it dawns on Turk that his brother is getting off on the possibility of getting caught, he should be alarmed, he should be the responsible one and put a stop to this before it goes to far, he should definitely not get impossibly harder than he already is and buck his hips again.

Virgil’s hands take their time trailing across his collar bones, really enjoying the feel of the fabric under his touch, or just enjoying taking his time because he knows he’s driving Turk crazy. Either possibility is just as likely, Turk thinks.

Snaking his fingers around the tie with one hand and unbuttoning the suit jacket with the other, Virgil starts kissing the side of his neck, and he pushes his head back against the wall, all thoughts of getting caught evaporating. He reaches up and sticks his fingers in his brother’s hair, enjoying the softness of it against his skin, massaging his scalp in soothing movements.

The last button of the jacket pops open and Virgil takes a small step closer to him. His hand sneaks in and settles on his waist, fingers pressing into his back and thumb rubbing over his belly.

When Virgil bites him lightly, Turk gasps, hips gyrating instinctively. Virgil smiles against his neck, and pushes his own hips closer, one thigh nestling its way in between his brother’s legs and rubbing ever so slightly against his crotch.

“Fuck”, Turk rasps out.

Virgil tongues the bite mark and sucks lightly on it. Then he leans back and looks into Turk’s face. The firey look in his eyes intensifying at what he sees there. He licks his lips hungrily.

“We don’t have long”, he says, regret seeping in.

Turk nods. He doesn’t trust his voice enough to speak. He knows he should put an end to this right now. But all he wants is for Virgil to touch him, the rest of it be damned.

Virgil leans in and captures his lips in a brief kiss, then he drops to his knees.

“Fuck!” Turk breathes out.

Virgil looks up at him, eyes impossibly blue in this light, eyelids drooping sultry, and again he licks his lips. Turk doesn’t think he’s had sex fantasies that have been this hot.

“You can play with my hair”, Virgil says.

Turk chuckles breathlessly and nods. He nestles his fingers back into his brother’s hair. Virgil’s eye lids flutter a bit, and he pushes into the caress. Turk imagines hearing him purr as well, but that’s just  
too silly, and he discards the idea.

Virgil’s eyes flutter open again and settle on Turk’s crotch. He gets a look of determination on his face and the next moment, he’s undoing the fly of the dress pants and pulling them down along with his boxers. Turk hisses and sends up a silent prayer wishing that there isn’t a security camera in this hallway, or if there is, that Livingstone isn’t watching them on some monitor right now, but that thought evaporates too as soon as Virgil starts nuzzling his cock.

Then there’s a tentative lick on the head, and Turk slams his head back against the wall with a moan. Virgil places a kiss on top of his cock, then slowly opens his mouth and lets it in, enveloping it in heat, wet heat. Turk presses his eyes shut and fists Virgil’s hair. Slowly, the mouth on his cock starts moving, up and down, then further down, and then there’s suction and Turk’s mind goes blank.

A hand reaches up and wraps his tie around itself, pulling just a little. The other hand curls around the base of his cock and squeezes.

When Turk comb his fingers through his brother’s unruly mop of hair, Virgil hums in approval, sending vibrations all around him. Turk’s hips jerk involuntarily, but besides a hmph of disapproval, Virgil doesn’t change his ministrations and he doesn’t gag.

“S-sorry, sorry”, Turk gasps.

The hand nestled in his tie lets go and cups his balls instead, squeezing them slightly, almost hard enough to be painful, almost.

“I- I’m gonna…”

Virgil hums again, and swallows him down even further than before, and Turk curses under his breath, he pulls gently on his brother’s hair, to get him to stop, but then his brother hums again, and swallows, and a shock wave of pleasure shoots through him.

He’s heard about lights exploding behind your eyes, but he always figured that was an exaggeration. A tickling shudder travels all through his body as he comes down from the orgasm. And he’s vaguely aware of Virgil still sucking him, and swallowing down all his come. His legs shake. And as soon as Virgil has tucked him back in his boxers and starts pulling his dress pants up, his knees buckle under him and he slides down the wall.

Virgil moves to sit next to him instead, leaning back against the wall, and he puts his arm around Turk’s shoulders. Turk wouldn’t normally, knowing it will give his brother something to tease him about later, but right now he can’t be bothered, so he leans into his brother.

Tilting his head back slightly, he nudges Virgil’s chin with his nose. Virgil smiles down at him, then leans down and kisses him. Turk hums against his lips.

“We should get going”, Virgil murmurs after they break apart.

“You swallowed”, Turk says.

“Yeah.”

“How was it?”

“Weird… I don‘t know, I might have liked it.”

“Might have?” Turk repeats and smirks.

“Yeah. I don’t know. I’ll have to try it again to know for sure.”

Virgil squeezes his shoulder and then gets to his feet. He offers his brother a hand and pulls him up. His dress pants starts falling down again, but he catches them and does up the fly.

“Fine by me”, he says.

“Yeah? Did I do good?”

Turk snorts and shoves his brother in the arm. He adjusts his tie and buttons his jacket. Virgil is still grinning hopefully at him, and he rolls his eyes.

“Are you serious? You’re such a girl, I swear-”

“What, it was my first attempt, some feedback would be nice-”

“Jesus Christ…” Turk mutters and starts walking down the hallway.

Virgil jogs to catch up with him then settles into the same rhythm by his side. They don’t speak for a long moment. Not until they spot Nestor and he waves at them, then Turk slows his pace down slightly and he looks sideways at Virgil, who gives him a questioning look back.

“Uniforms, huh?” Turk says and smirks.

“Shut up”, Virgil mutters and blushes.


	16. Idiots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil knows he’s being silly, but he can’t help but wonder if it’s visible on him, on them, if the others have noticed anything different with them since they got back from Mexico. (Virgil POV)

As Turk finishes, Virgil checks the time on his cell. Turk shuts and locks the door of the last box, and they’re on their way again.

“Thanks, homes”, Turk tells Nestor and bumps knuckles with him.

Virgil means to thank him too and clap him on the shoulder, but suddenly the impulse to hug him instead grips him, so he does. Nestor looks bemused, but his eyes twinkle and he gives Virgil a nod.

Turk checks in with him with a single glance, then they start running.

“Did you make a friend?” Turk comments a moment later as they barrel down the stairs.

Virgil doesn’t reply, but he shoots Turk a glare. Of course, Turk just smiles back.

Basher looks up when they arrive to the control room and he makes a show of rolling his eyes.

“Turk, Virgil… They’re here, guys”, he mutters. “What the fuck do you think you’re playing at? What happened to your microphones, we lost contact with you-”

Basher hands them the their overalls and helmets. Virgil lets Turk improvise an excuse and he steps into his overalls.

“Fine, whatever”, Basher mutters. “Did you fix the slots-?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s all done.”

Basher gets his jacket and pulls it on, whilst double checking the control panel. 

Virgil knows he’s being silly, but he can’t help but wonder if it’s visible on him, on them, if the others have noticed anything different with them since they got back from Mexico, if Basher senses something different in them now.

He thinks they should. He feels different. Everything feels different. And it’s absurd when Basher doesn’t show any sign of noticing. When he just goes about his business as usual and barely spares them a glance as he jogs by, even though Virgil’s entire world has been turned upside-down.

He clicks the microphone in the shirt button on again. Next to him, Turk does the same, and then he struggles into his overalls. Virgil bites back a chuckle.

Perhaps everything hasn’t changed, he thinks.

When Turk discovers that he’s put the overalls on backwards, Virgil starts laughing.

“You’re such an idiot”, he cackles merrily.

Then he goes to put his helmet on, only the helmet hits the pipes above his head and he’s showered with dirt and tiny rocks that fall down from above them. He freezes, and presses his lips together, waiting for his brother’s malicious guffaw, only it doesn’t come. Instead his brother chuckles gently, and says, “Careful…”

Virgil looks over at him. There’s an amused twinkle in his brother’s eyes, but no malice. And then he reaches out and brushes the dirt out of Virgil’s hair. It’s a loving gesture. And Virgil doesn’t know what to do with that. He turns away and hunches forward so that he can put his helmet on without hitting anything else with it.

“You okay, man?” his brother says behind him.

“Yeah, fine”, Virgil mutters.

“Alright…”

Maybe that’s the second shoe, Virgil thinks. Maybe this thing between them will change everything, change how they talk to each other, how they work together, how they bicker and fight, and yeah, it’s not good or bad, it just is, but it’s them, has always been them, and if they don’t have that anymore, if that isn’t them anymore, then what does he have left?

What if this thing doesn’t work out, he thinks. What if we start despising each other, I’ll have fucked up the one thing I’ve always been sure of, I won’t have my brother anymore.

Virgil shivers involuntarily at the thought. Turk comes up behind him, a wide hand settling between his shoulder blades and rubbing slightly there.

“You cold?”

Virgil closes his eyes and swallows the panic down. He shakes his head.

“No, I’m fine.”

“…’kay.”

The hand between his shoulder blades falls away, and now he does feel cold. He opens his eyes again. This is ridiculous, he thinks. Focus, man. You’re on the clock.

Looking over at Turk, he can see that he’s watching him through the corner of his eye. There’s a tension in his shoulders that tells Virgil he’s nervous, or possibly even scared.

Virgil stretches his neck and rolls his shoulders a little.

“So how does this thing work”, he says and walks up to his brother.

Some of the tension lets go, but Turk is still wary next to him, his eyes are guarded. He follows Virgil’s line of sight.

“This here monitors the pressure, Basher said keep an eye on that, and this one, in particular, and not let this go below twenty, and then this…”

Turk reaches past him to point at an indicator on the other side of him, and Virgil gets a waft of his smell, it just washes over him and for a moment he feels dizzy.

Turk keeps explaining the procedure to him but Virgil tunes his voice out until it‘s just a pleasant hum, that distinct Turk smell weaving itself around him like a comforter. He tries to pinpoint the exact smell, it‘s a mix of his musky schampoo and that girly-smelling aftershave that he insists on using, and then there’s something else, something smoky that he can’t quite put his finger on, something almost metallic, and something earthy. Virgil shakes his head slightly to clear it.

“No you haven’t got it, or no I don’t need to go over it again?”

“What?”

“Seriously, you okay? Were there any larger rocks that hit you or-?”

“Very funny”, Virgil mutters. “I got it, I’m not stupid.”

He walks away from the meter panel, and from his brother, and takes a seat by the control panel. Turk watches him for a while longer.

“I said, I’m fine”, Virgil snaps.

“Look, you wanna talk or whatever, just… you know…”

Virgil takes a deep breath and nods, as he releases the breath again, his irritation as well as his energy seems to escape with it, and he sags in his seat. He takes the helmet off again and combs his fingers through his hair. Some grit falls down on his lap. He sighs.

Then Basher’s voice speaks up in their ear pieces, telling them that Bank will run Livingston’s fingerprints off the shuffle machine.

Virgil looks up at Turk.

“Damn, he’s good”, Turk admits.

“He’ll get Livingston’s ID”, Danny’s voice buzzes. “And known associates.”

“That’s us”, Rusty C. Obvious adds.

Virgil leans his head back and drags his hands down his face. Saul enquires what they have in place for this, and the truth is they have nothing. Danny says what they’re all thinking.

But then Basher comes up with an idea.

“Who’s gonna hack this?” Danny asks.

“I can handle it”, Turk says.

Virgil looks over at him and shakes his head. Turk is hopeless with computers. What, Turk mouths.

“Is anyone else available?” Rusty says.

“This is Virgil”, Virgil speaks up, ignoring Turk’s arm flapping. “I’ll give it a shot.”

“I can handle it”, Turk insists.

“Virgil it is”, Danny says and Virgil smirks at his brother. “Get it done, Virg.”

“Will do…”

“Whatever”, Turk mutters.

Getting the laptop set up, Virgil tries to stay on target, even though Turk has chosen to take up position right behind him, close enough that Virgil can sense that particular Turk smell, but not close enough to feel his body heat.

“Cue the slots”, he tells him.

Turk presses the button on the remote detonator. But he doesn’t budge from his position. Virgil clears his throat, glancing back over his shoulder just slightly.

“Do you have to-?”

“Am I in your way?”

“No, but you know I can’t concentrate when-”

“Oh, maybe they should’ve asked me to do it after all-”

“Asshole”, Virgil mutters and starts hacking into the system.

“You in yet?”

“I hate that question.”

“…Yeah?” Turk murmurs.

There’s a slight change in his tone, something that the others would probably never pick up on, but Virgil does. He can tell the difference between his brother teasing him and teasing him.

“Don’t…” he warns him.

“Don’t what”, Turk murmurs, right behind his ear, lips actually brushing it, and Virgil shivers.

“Turk”, he more or less whines.

He feels rather than hears when Turk chuckles, then he straightens up again, and Virgil takes a deep breath to compose himself.

“Guys, please”, Rusty’s voice reaches them. “Try and stay focused.”

“He started it”, Virgil mutters.

“Such a baby-” Turk says.

“Will you let me work-?”

“Little baby girl, yeah, work, I’m not stopping you!”

Virgil starts clicking away, altering one picture after another. When Turk’s picture comes up he feels Turk taking a step closer to him again, but this time his attention is on the screen, and what Virgil’s doing to his picture, rather than on Virgil and what he can do to him.

“Don’t change it that much”, he says. “Keep it lo- keep it stretchier-”

“I’m trying to make you taller, don’t you wanna be taller?” Virgil deadpans. “You’re a midget in thirty-four states…”

“You’re an animal in the other thirty-four”, Turk says and sniffs.

Virgil turns around and gives him a bemused look.

“Twenty-four”, Turk corrects himself. “Twenty-two.”

Virgil snorts and turns back to the laptop.

Suddenly Turk’s hands are on his shoulders, heavy but comforting, and they start kneading the sore muscles there. Virgil groans quietly.

“What’re you doing?” he mutters.

“Nothing”, Turk says. “Keep working.”

He does the finishing touches on Basher’s picture, and he’s done. One of Turk’s hands travel up his neck and the fingers start massaging his scalp. He lets his head fall forward and breathes heavily.

“Nicely done, Virg”, Basher’s voice buzzes in their ear pieces.

Virgil takes a deep breath and straightens up again. Turk backs away a step, the hand in Virgil‘s hair lingering just a little, then it falls away too. Virgil shuts the laptop.

“Alright, Rusty‘s up”, he says and gets to his feet.

“I gotta say I’m impressed, I think you did a very nice job…”

Even now, compliments are awkward between them. Even if it wasn’t for the other guys possibly listening in. Turk will rather give him a massage than tell him something nice, and Virgil gets it.

“I know I did”, he says, and kills the tension between them with one graceful blow. “That’s why they asked me to do it and not you…”

He brushes Turk’s belly with his hand as he walks past him.

“Wow, okay”, Turk says, then turns around to follow him. “See that is me offering you an olive basket, and that is you spitting in my face!”

Virgil turns around to face his brother, and he fights with himself to keep a straight face, “Oh was that your face?”

Turk’s eyes twinkle with mischief. There’s a predatory strut to his step now as he keeps walking towards Virgil, who starts backing away. There’s an electric charge to their eye lock, speaking volumes to each other that the others can’t overhear, and Virgil presses his lips together, but finally he can’t help himself and he breaks out grinning.

There’s an added sparkle in Turk’s eyes after that, and he keeps advancing on Virgil, until he has him backed up against a wall. He puts his hands on either side of his shoulders, trapping him.

Virgil looks up pointedly at the wall, “Huh…” he says.

“How ‘bout that”, Turk murmurs.

“That’s new”, Virgil quips.

Turk smiles. Then he pushes off the wall and takes a step back. He shoves his hands into his pockets, and glances up at Virgil. He’s got that searching look in his eyes. Virgil knows that look, it‘s the look he gets when he‘s checking in, when he‘s making sure things are okay.

Virgil blinks once, telling him yes, they‘re fine.

Turk gives him a half-smile, then tilts his head toward the big wheels.

“Come on, let‘s do this…”


	17. Rock my world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He already knows he was overreacting to the whole Sweetheart thing, and now they’re about to be buried alive under the remnants of the tackiest hotel and casino in Vegas, and the last thing they’ll have done before the ceiling falls in on them is fight. (Virgil POV)

“Hit ‘em harder”, Rusty’s voice buzzes in their ears.

The brothers look at each other. A mirrored spark of excitement in both their eyes. They pull the levers. The wheel whines as it’s pushed to its limit. The ground trembles under their feet.

Virgil steps up close to Turk and leans down to capture his lips in a quick kiss. The added vibration of the assimilated earth quake sends a tingle out into his toes and fingertips, but he keeps the kiss shallow and brief, not wanting to accidentally knock their teeth together or bite his brother’s tongue off.

Turk’s arms slide around his waist and with a wicked grin he pull Virgil closer until their lower bodies touch. Virgil half-laughs, half-moans as the tremors pass through both their bodies.

“Not a good idea”, he groans against the side of Turk’s neck.

Then a thought occurs to him and he chuckles. He trails his nose up Turks neck, then puts his lips against the shell of his ear.

“You rock my world”, he whispers, and smiles when Turk tilts his head back and laughs.

I did that, he thinks proudly.

Reluctantly he leans away from his brother and checks his watch. It‘s time. He grabs Turk’s hands from behind his back and squeezes them gently before letting them go.

Turk follows him to the row of levers and they switch them all offand wait for the tremours to stop, only they don’t. Turk shrugs at him and walks over to the wheel to double-check. Virgil gives the meters a once-over, then follows him. The wheel is off.

“Alright guys, shut her down”, Danny yells through the noise in their ear pieces. “Shut her down!”

“She is shut down”, Turk calls back, there‘s a forced calmness to his voice, and Virgil knows he‘s worried.

“This is no time to joke, fellas!” Rusty yells.

“Do I sound like I’m laughing, Sweetheart”, Turk shoots back.

Virgil frowns. He looks over at Turk.

Ever since they were kids Turk has always called him names, he called other people names too, he’s always been cocky that way, but ‘Sweetheart’ was always reserved for Virgil, and always for when there was just the two of them. It was the special nickname.

He’s being silly. He knows he’s being silly.

“What?” Turk says.

Virgil just shakes his head and looks down. Turk walks by him over to the rows of levers again. Double-checking them all.

“Why are you checking those again for, the wheel’s off”, Virgil says as he joins him. “It‘s the building, it‘s probably coming down…”

Turk just looks at him.

Virgil can’t explain it, it’s not that he’s jealous or anything. It’s just Rusty and he doesn’t get it. He really doesn’t. Everyone seems to be so smitten by him, Turk is so smitten by him, so impressed, so star-struck, but he’s charming in that obvious way, which gets really boring after a while, and really isn’t that good looking, at least Virgil doesn’t think so. Yet everyone seems to think he’s perfect, even Turk.

Apparently Virgil’s the only one who remembers what a mess he made of Amsterdam just because he had the hots for that detective. That was just embarrassing. The thing with the cell phone, completely amateurish.

“Okay, what’s up with you now?” Turk insists.

Virgil grits his teeth.

“Nothing. Sweetheart.”

Turk just blinks, then he huffs and puffs for a bit like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. Virgil rolls his eyes and turn his head away.

“Really? Are you serious?” Turk says.

“I don’t want to talk about it now-”

“You can’t be serious-!”

“The building’s about to collapse on us, I don’t want to fight-!”

“For fuck’s sake!”

“-with you now! Please!”

Virgil fixes his brother with a hard look. Turk finally nods, and turns away.

Virgil thinks he might have made a mistake. He already knows he was overreacting to the whole Sweetheart thing, and now they’re about to be buried alive under the remnants of the tackiest hotel and casino in Vegas, and the last thing they’ll have done before the ceiling falls in on them is fight.

Then again, they’ve been fighting each other all their lives, so it’s only fitting they go out that way too, he figures.

The tremours stop.

Turk turns around to face him again. Virgil looks up and meets his gaze. And for a moment he forgets about Rusty and everything else that’s been happening, and he smiles.

I guess we survived this one too, he thinks.

“Alright”, Turk says.

He tears open the front of Virgil’s overalls and yanks off the top button of the shirt underneath, the button with the tiny microphone in it. He then yanks out his own, and tosses them both on the floor. Then he takes out his ear piece and does the same with that. Virgil watches him and says nothing. Slowly he takes out his own ear piece and lets it drop the the ground. He doesn’t ask what Turk is up to, because he already knows, he knows they’re going to have a talk, like proper grown-ups, and he knows he’ll have to answer a bunch of questions he hasn’t even answered for himself yet.

But Turk doesn’t ask any question.

“Speak”, is all he says, and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“Speak?” Virgil repeats.

“Yeah.”

Virgil heaves a great sigh as leans back against the wall next to the levers,  seemingly deflating. Turk’s gaze is relentless on him. He stays where he is, legs strong, feet wide apart, arms stubbornly crossed in front of him.

Stubborn jackass, Virgil thinks.

“Not here”, he says.

“This can’t wait”, Turk counters, and he almost looks apologetic for a moment.

“What do you want me to say”, Virgil mutters.

Turk sighs then. Virgil can see him in his peripheral, how he uncrosses his arms and shifts his weight.

“Alright”, he says finally, and for a minute Virgil thinks he’s relented, but then the questions come after all. “Are you having second thoughts?”

Virgil looks up at him. Turk stares back, no trace of emotion in his face, just calm eyes and expectant eyebrows. Virgil shakes his head.

“Alright. Good”, his brother breathes, the relief not visable in his face or body language, but audible in his voice. “Then, have I done something?”

“Like what?”

“Something to upset you, I don’t know.”

“Turk…”

“Yeah?”

Virgil looks down again. This whole time, he’s known he’s being silly, but he just can’t seem to shake the feeling that he’s making a big mistake. But how is he supposed to tell his brother that. How is he supposed to explain something that he doesn’t really understand himself, something that’s more a feeling than a thought anyway, something that doesn’t even make sense.

Because this thing they have going now, it feels great in all the right ways. And they’re getting along for the first time in their lives, and also for the first time in their lives, Virgil feels like his brother actually likes having him around, that he actually likes him, as a person, and that feels better than anything has ever felt before. It doesn’t make sense for him to be scared that he’s losing something, when what he had was worse than what he has now.

He shakes his head again. Because he can’t explain it. He’ll probably never be able to, not even to himself.

“Tell me”, Turk insists.

“It’s nothing, I’m just being silly”, Virgil mumbles.

Turk snorts, “What else is new.”

Virgil welcomes the familiarity and smiles. Then Turk is standing just there, on the edge of his personal space, peering into his face. One of his hands is a comforting weight on Virgil’s shoulder, and oddly enough he feels a little lighter. He dips his weight forward enough to touch his forehead to Turk’s, and he closes his eyes.

“You can though”, Turk mumbles. “Tell me, if there’s something to tell.”

“I’m just waiting for the second shoe to drop”, Virgil admits quietly.

The hand on his shoulder squeezes him gently. Then it pulls him forward until he’s resting completely against his brother’s broad chest, strong arms encircling him and holding him. They don’t say anything else. Virgil puts his head on Turk’s shoulder and rests his hands on his hips, allowing himself to just be held for a moment.

They never hugged, even as kids, and it should be scary like everything else, only this isn’t. This feels familiar even though it shouldn’t. It feels safe, and right.

Virgil turns his head on top of Turk’s shoulder so that his nose is nuzzled against his neck. And he inhales that special Turk smell, and he just refrains from sighing.

“So who do you think’s figured it out?” Turk says.

“Of the guys? I don’t know. I’m pretty sure Basher hasn’t. Danny might have… and Reuben.”

“Reuben? Really?”

“I think maybe yeah…”

“What about Rusty?”

“I don’t know.”

Turk’s hands travel up to his neck, then cups his face and nudges it up and away from his shoulder, so that he can look Virgil in the eye.

“Are you really jealous of Rusty? I mean, really”, he says.

Virgil blushes. He wets his lips and leans in for a kiss. Turk kisses back briefly, but then he pushes him away from him again and fixes him with one of his serious looks, and his mouth is set in a determined line, Virgil knows this face, knows that this is his brother when he’s had enough bullshit. He gives him a half-smile.

“I guess, no”, he says.

“You guess?”

“I mean, he’s not that great, as everyone seems to think all the time-”

“Everyone.”

“And sometimes I don’t get what it is about him that impresses you so much, and yeah it gets a little annoying, but I’m not jealous or anything.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh, yeah, and you called him Sweetheart”, Virgil mumbles.

Turk pulls on his earlobe to make him look at him, he pulls hard, and it really hurts. Virgil glares at him. But Turk only twitches his eyebrows at him, the stubborn jackass.

Virgil shoves him lightly, but he doesn’t as much as sway, and Virgil’s hand just keeps resting there, in the middle of his chest and he should either shove him harder or let his hand fall to the side again, but he does neither.

He can feel his brother’s heart underneath him, hammering a steady rhythm.

The chest presses against his palm a little more, and he glances up.

“Are you going to tell me”, Turk insists softly.

“I just never heard you say that before”, Virgil says.

“Say what, ‘Sweetheart’?”

“Yeah, not to anyone else, not even when we were kids, that was just… me. I told you it was stupid.”

“No. No, it‘s not… I just, I guess I didn’t think about it.”

Virgil lets his hands fall away from Turk’s chest. He nods.

“Tonight, I mean”, Turk says then. “When I was talking to Rusty, I wasn’t thinking about what I was saying, I couldn’t tell you why I called him that, I barely even remember saying it, and you’re right, that’s… you know… yours.”

“…Yeah?”

“Yeah”, Turk says, then he glances over his shoulder. “Look we probably don’t have long…”

He fixes Virgil with another one of his looks, the searching one, and Virgil remembers the first time his brother looked at him like that. It was in the school yard, third grade, and Turk had just broken their buddy Mike’s nose. That’s what it is, Virgil thinks, it’s his big brother look.

Age, he realizes then, and the fact that they happen to be the same one just because they couldn’t even agree on who should come first, is just a technicality, or a number as the saying goes. And when it comes down to it, when it really matters, Virgil knows he has a big brother in Turk. And he doubts that anything, not this new aspect to their relationship, not Rusty, not anything he can think of, could ever change that.

Turk eyes him suspiciously.

Virgil just shakes his head. He tries to thin out his smile, but it keeps stretching across his face, he can’t help it. Leaning forward he bumps Turk’s forehead with his own again before he straightens up and brushes past him. He starts gathering up their things, feelings his brother’s wary eyes on him the entire time.

“Gents, seriously!” Basher roars at them when he shows up again a moment later. “What is the matter with you two! That’s the second time tonight that you haven’t responded when we were trying to reach you!”

“Sorry”, Virgil says. “What’s going on?”

“Fireworks. And Danny wants everyone to have drink together before we split up. On him. So let’s go!”


	18. Fireworks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past, their past, his and Turk’s, is foreign to him now. (Virgil POV)

They all stand outside in the damp night air and watches as the fireworks paint the sky. They’re all quiet, pensive, and there’s a sense of melancholy mixed in with all the other emotions going around as per usual after a finished job. Maybe it’s the feeling of something nice coming to an end. Maybe it’s the feeling of something unknown about to start. But even though he can’t speak for the other guys, Virgil feels oddly content, despite all the rest of it.

The past, their past, his and Turk’s, is foreign to him now. It’s a foreign country that he vaguely remembers passing through, but couldn’t tell you the capital or the currency of, and all those touristy phrases that he used to have memorized, like “How are you” and “Where is the beach”, they’ve all faded from his memory now. The future, that’s the next stop, but so far he’s lounging in the waiting area at the airport.

He looks to either side of him at each of the guys, and thinks about how little he really knows about them, and still he knows them better than probably anyone else, anywhere else in the world. One by one, they drop away and disappear into the fabricated night that the city of Las Vegas offers them. They’ll see each other in the morning at the airport, probably, but if they don’t it won’t be a big deal. They’re a pack of lone wolfs, all of them.

Well, Virgil has always had Turk, for better or worse. And sure enough, when he’s grown bored with the fireworks and turns around to walk out of there, Turk is already sidling up to him.

They don’t speak, they just start walking. Side by side, they stroll down the street, hands in their pockets, eyes on the ground in front of their feet.

“So”, Turk says after a good ten minutes of silence between them. “We okay? I mean, with the whole Rusty thing and all?”

“Again with Rusty, I don‘t get it, what is it with this guy, you seem to have a fixation. Personally I think he’s a bit smarmy, but I mean, hey-”

“Haha, very funny-”

“Hey, if that’s your flavour, who am I to judge, just let me know if you wanna go for it-”

“You’re an animal, completely cold-hearted, as usual-”

“-before you go for it, ‘cause I don’t share.”

“Aww shit, now you tell me, I have to call Saul and tell him not to bother dropping by later, then…”

Virgil chuckles, “You’re so disturbed…I think I’ll keep you around.”

He slings his arm around Turk’s neck and let’s his hand rest on the front of his shoulder. Turk snorts, “You make me sound like a stray… Rusty’s not my type, anyway. Just so we‘re clear.”

“You don’t have a type”, Virgil dismisses.

“I have a type!”

“What, leggy brunettes with a pulse-?”

He realizes what he’s said, just as it’s too late to take it back. The words seem to echo in the air between them. And he’d really meant to keep their conversation light and teasing, thinking they’d have enough sappy and serious to last them for the rest of the month, or year. Plus, knowing his brother is practically allergic to anything that involves commitment and intimacy, outside the job, this right here is the best way to scare him off.

And sure enough, Turk tenses up under his arm as soon as the words settle. It’s like Pavlov’s dogs.

“…yeah”, he says.

Virgil fights the urge to tighten his grip on his shoulder, and instead he casually lets go of him and tries to play it cool, thinking that maybe if he acts like it, Turk will think nothing of it.

“And breast implants”, Turk adds.

“What?”

Virgil stares at Turk, who stares right back, perfect poker face in place. “Breast implants“, he repeats. “So, now you know what you’re getting for Christmas…”

Virgil just blinks.

Then Turk tilts his head back and guffaws.

“You’re sick”, Virgil says and shakes his head.

Turk continues chuckling, but he reaches for Virgil’s hand and grabs it, interlacing their fingers like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Glancing at his profile, Virgil can tell his brother is content too, happy even. And come to think of it, he hasn’t seemed that happy in quite a while.

He squeezes his hand a little. Turk looks over and smiles at him, it’s an easy smile, genuine. Virgil isn’t quite used to it, especially having it directed at himself, but he definitely could get used to it.

“What do you say we get a room for the night, in some other hotel, just the two of us?” he says.

“What, you and me?” Turk says. “In one room? And what, sleep together?”

“Yeah.”

“In the same bed?”

Virgil stops walking and lets go of Turk’s hand. He turns around to face him completely. Turk’s arms fly out to either side, saying, Now what!, but Virgil just crosses his arms in front of his chest.

“What, you don’t want to share a bed with me-?”

“Well“, Turk says and is most definitely not contradicting him. “You’re like a puppy-”

“A what?”

“A puppy, a baby dog-”

“I know what a puppy is, I’m not stupid, Turk, how exactly am I like a puppy-?”

“You whimper and kick and stuff in your sleep-!”

“And you snore, but I’m willing to put up with it, asshole!”

A couple of girls in miniskirts scurries by, heads close together, snickering behind their cupped hands. Turk gives them a wide, insincere smile. Then he glances over at Virgil again, before promptly tilting his head back and half-sighing, half-groaning at the skies. Virgil knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“And I’d be careful who I call a girl at this moment in time”, he warns him.

Turk chuckles. He rolls his head back and forth, stretching his neck a little.

“Alright”, he says softly.

“What?”

“I said, alright. Let’s get a room.”

“What, with separate beds?”

“King size bed.”

“Really?”

Turk reaches for him then, and Virgil lets him grab a hold of his hand and pull him in, until they’re standing in a conjoined personal space, and ignore another group of mini-skirts who clique-claque by in stilettos and muffle their snickers and giggles behind hands and bottles of liqueur.

“What’s the catch?” Virgil wants to know.

Turk chuckles again then, and he keeps pulling on his arm, even though Virgil can’t possibly step any closer to him. So instead he leans down, he holds back from the kiss for just a moment and searches his brother’s eyes for any sign of trickery, but when he finds nothing but amusement, he leans down the rest of the way and slides their mouths together.

It still boggles his mind how well they fit together, and how right it feels.

Turk’s hands find their way into his hair, fingers weaving through the messy locks, finger tips scratching his scalp, and he shivers involuntarily at the sensation, pressing himself harder into the embrace, moaning, humming, purring into his brother’s mouth.

“Get a room!” some wise guy yells from across the street, and they break apart.

Once he’s got his breathing under control, Virgil bends down and nips at Turk’s neck, small, teasing love bites, not hard enough to leave marks, but just enough to have him clutching at his shoulders, desperately.

“No catch?” he mumbles, lips resting against Turk’s pulse point, the tip of his tongue sneaking out to tease the spot. Turk hisses and pushes at his shoulders.

“What is it with you and public places…” Turk mutters.

Virgil bites him, a little harder, and sucks on the flesh. Determined to leave a mark this time. Turk gurgles down a moan and what sounds like a curse.

“No catch?” he repeats, and gives the mark, his mark, a couple of soothing licks.

“Well”, Turk drawls. “There is one… you have to put out.”

Virgil grins against the side of Turk’s neck. He hums, and pretends to mull it over. Then he straightens up and grabs his brother by the hand and starts walking down the street again.

“I can live with that”, he decides.


	19. Anniversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a year. (Virgil POV)

It’s been one year since the Bank job, and since Turk and him became, well, whatever you want to call it, Virgil thinks ‘lovers’ sounds so… but yeah, lovers, he concedes, because that’s what they became in that dice factory in Mexico, and that’s what they’ve remained for a year since.

They haven’t talked about celebrating any sort of anniversary or anything, but if they were to have one, it would be today, Virgil knows, even though he’s tried not to think about it and tried not to count the days, but yeah. A year ago today. And a year is, well Virgil thinks it’s a big deal, and he thinks he can afford to feel a little relieved, actually. Because he never really managed to get rid of that uncomfortable feeling that this whole thing would turn out to be just a fluke, and a big mistake. But now, it’s like they’ve reached some sort of milestone and the whole thing, the relationship as it were, just feels more real because of it, more official, even though it isn’t, because they haven’t told anyone, for obvious reasons.

They live together now, though. Thirty-three years old and they only now moved out from their parents’ house. But they never really had a reason to before, since they only stayed at home when they weren’t on a job, and when they did, they had a nice enough time, just hanging out like when they were kids and have Ma cook for them. But since the last job, moving back home didn’t sound like the good idea that it usually did. So they got their own place, an apartment, and no-one thought it odd that they’d shack up together since they’re practically joined at the hip anyway. They’re still in Provo, Turk likes it here, and Virgil doesn’t mind it. They have their friends and family nearby, but with the apartment they now also have privacy when they need it.

Sometimes, though, Virgil wonders what it’d be like if they were to move to another town, another state even, move somewhere no-one knows them and knows they’re brothers. He wonders what it’d be like to be able to kiss Turk whenever he feels like it, be it at home or in the street or hanging out with friends. He wonders if they could become like those couple you see holding hands when they walk down the street, like they did that one time in Vegas, if they could be like that every day, for no particular reason, just like a routine, like something you don’t have to think about, you just do, something that’s just normal.

He hears the front door open and tears his eyes away from the kitchen window. It needs cleaning, but fuck if he’s got the energy to do it. He puts the coffee cup down on the table in front of him, just as Turk’s voice reaches him from the hall, a familiar “Hey, you home?” accompanied by the distinct chunks of his boots being kicked off.

“In the kitchen”, he calls back.

A minute later Turk appears in the doorway, smiling already, and even now Virgil gets a flip-floppy feeling in his belly whenever Turk smiles at him, even though he should be used to it by now. He starts to smile back, and is just about to get up and meet him halfway, when another face appears in the doorway behind Turk, and he stops himself and remains in his seat.

“Bobo”, he says. “Hey…”

“Hey, man! How’s it going?”

“Great”, Virgil says and glances over at Turk. “What’re you guys up to?”

Turk shoots him an apologetic look, but doesn’t say anything. Bobo takes a seat at the table, sprawling out like he has no intention of getting up anytime soon, and he starts telling Virgil about some pool tournament at one of the local bars that they‘re going to, Big Sam and Jimmy too. Turk walks behind Virgil and discretely touches his fingertips to his back as he moves past him and walks over to the fridge. He takes out a couple of beers and hands one to Bobo, then he holds the other one out to Virgil, a sadly hopeful look in his eye.

“You want one?”

“Yeah, sure”, Virgil says.

He tries to keep all emotion off his face, and away from him in general, and he tries to sound completely neutral as he speaks, but the air feels like sandpaper as it passes through his throat, and the words are scratchy when they tear themselves loose. He clears his throat softly. He avoids looking at Turk for a minute and breaks the beer open and takes a couple of mouthfuls in one swig.

Turk doesn’t take a seat at the table. He stays by the kitchen counter next to the fridge, drinking, and probably only pretending to listen to Bobo as he tells Virgil about their afternoon.

At a safe distance, Virgil thinks.

For some reason it makes him sad that Turk would think he’d be angry with him, like he’s some ticking time bomb or something. He’s probably given him enough reason to be wary, with his endless mood swings, but there’s no reason to keep a distance, it’s not like he’d ever lash out or anything.

He looks over at him, and finds Turk‘s eyes already on him. There’s a new gleam in them, something that Virgil can’t quite read, and he feels the panic start to build inside and has to look away again. He takes another swig of beer and tries to avoid thoughts altogether, but it proves to be impossible.

He can’t help thinking that this is it, the one year mark, the milestone, and it’s shaken Turk into realising how serious this thing between them has become, and now he’s thinking of ways to end it, it was a fluke to him after all, or maybe it wasn’t but now he’s had a change of heart, but regardless he doesn’t want to move away from Provo, and he doesn’t want to be like a normal couple, and how could Virgil have been so stupid as to ever think otherwise?

“Hey, I think Sam thinks you’re picking him up, dude”, Turk tells Bobo and cuts off his story mid-sentence.

Virgil recognises that tone of voice, it’s his brother’s con voice, which means that 1.) he’s lying, and 2.) he’s improvising. Virgil keeps his gaze fixed on the table top. He takes another swig of beer, and tries to keep his face neutral, tries to keep his emotions in check, his panic down.

“He does? Why does he think that?” Bobo says, oblivious to the lie.

“I don’t know, I thought you’d told him that”, Turk says.

“He never said anything to me about needing a ride!”

“Hey, I don’t know, maybe I got it wrong. Why don’t you use our phone to call him?”

He’s good, Virgil thinks faintly, despite the fear gripping him. Any minute now, Bobo is going to leave and they are going to have a Talk and then this will all be over.

“Nah, we’ll swing by and pick him up, it’s on the way anyway”, Bobo concedes.

“Alright, yeah. But hey, maybe Virg and me will meet you guys there though, ‘cause we have to drop by the old house, promised Ma we’d come by for a visit, you know how it is…”

“So you’re taking your car then?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll meet you there, it’s easiest that way, it’s in the opposite direction.”

Virgil swallows down a lump in his throat and shuts his eyes. His head is reeling. He can hear his own blood as it laps by his ear drums.

“Hey, Virgil, you okay?” Bobo’s voice reaches him through the buzz in his head.

“Probably the beer”, Turk jokes. “You know what a lightweight he is!”

Then they leave the kitchen and Virgil can hear Turk walking Bobo to the door and seeing him off with promises of making the visit to the parents short and meeting up as soon as possible and having a grand old time together. Then the door slams shut and there’s just silence.

Virgil opens his eyes, but he keeps them fixed to same spot on the table top as before. Then his brother appears in the kitchen doorway again. He more or less hovers between the table and the counter, worry and regret coming off him in waves.

Then he’s right next to Virgil, and touching him, a strong hand rubbing between his shoulder blades, the other cupping his forehead, and his face dips into his hair, feeling, inhaling, kissing.

“I’m sorry, I tried to shake him off, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer, said he wanted to see you and hang out for a bit”, Turk murmurs, the sound muffled by Virgil’s hair.

Then he straightens up and crouches down next to Virgil instead, peering into his face.

“Hey”, he says, voice gentle, soft, lulling.

Like a cat purring, before striking, Virgil thinks numbly.

“It’s okay”, he says, voice only slightly scratchy. “I don’t mind. Why would I mind. He‘s a friend.”

“No, I know, but today-…” Turk begins, then cuts himself off. “Anyway… we don’t have to go to that tournament, I’m sure I can come up with some excuse, unless you want to go of course…”

“Well I don’t wanna go see Ma and Dad…” Virgil mutters.

“No”; Turk says and chuckles. “Me neither. We’ll save that for a rainy day… So, you okay?”

“I’m not that much of a lightweight”, Virgil jokes but it sounds hollow even to his own ears, but Turk chuckles anyway, which is always a bad sign.

“And… we okay?” he presses after a moment.

Virgil turns his head and looks him in the eye then. He can read nervousness and fear in brother, but also affection, and none of that new stuff he saw before and couldn’t figure out. He shrugs, “I don’t know, are we?”

“I hope so.”

“You… okay. Yeah. Then, yeah”, Virgil says, and even though he can breathe easier again, there still appears to be a knot in his chest.

Before they showed up, he was starting to feel more confident in this thing between them, more confident in himself and his brother’s feelings, drawing strength from the fact that a whole year has gone by and his brother is still here, and he started to believe for moment that maybe it’s going to stay that way, but now he’s right back where he started, doubting everything, waiting for the moment when it all comes crumbling down.

Turk touches the side of his face. It’s pure instinct that has him leaning into the caress. But he doesn’t close his eyes, and he doesn’t lean down for a kiss. They sit like that, just looking at each other for a moment. Turk searching Virgil’s eyes for answers, and Virgil clouding his eyes so he won’t find any.

He’s getting tired of this game.

“I’m sorry”, he says then, because someone needs to say it, otherwise they’ll be here all night.

“Why are you sorry?” Turk says.

“I don’t know. For acting weird.”

“You are weird, so it’s not your fault”, Turk quips. “Listen, let’s stay in tonight… do you want to?”

“We don’t have to”, Virgil says and looks away.

“I know”, Turk says and gets to his feet.

He grabs his beer from the counter, then takes the seat opposite Virgil.

“But I want to”, he adds.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I told you, Bobo backed me into a corner, I needed time to come up with a good excuse. Unless you really want to go, then we can go, but I much rather stay in tonight.”

“And do what?”

“I don’t know, cook… watch a movie… and stuff.”

“And stuff?” Virgil repeats and can’t help but smile.

Turk’s eyes twinkle, and he smirks. Then shrugs. He takes a swig of beer. The tension in his shoulders is starting to ease off, and it’s only when it does that Virgil really notice how tense he’s been since he got home. Not just guarded and wary, like he thought, but tense like a prickled-up hedgehog.

“I can cook”, Turk suggests again.

Virgil has to laugh at that. He can’t remember his brother ever having cooked a single meal in their lives. And neither has he, come to think of it. Besides they’re mother’s cooking, they’re more take-out kind of guys. He tells Turk that, and Turk concedes, but still insists they give it a go.

“We can get some recipe off the internet, how hard can it be, we’ll figure it out together.”

Virgil wants to ask his brother what this new obsession with cooking and domesticity is all about, but part of him is scared of what the answer will be and another part reminds him not to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he doesn’t object any further, rather relents to the idea, but says they should get started immediately, because when - then correcting himself, and saying if - it fails they want to be able to call for a pizza, and they have to do that before eleven.

Turk huffs a little at the show of little faith, but agrees to the compromise.

Funnily enough, once they get back from the grocery store with the ingredients and get to work on the lasagne and salad, they’re actually having a really good time. They move around each other in perfect rhythm, only crashing into each other a few times and when they do, they kiss, so it’s not altogether a negative thing. And by the time the lasagne is in the oven and the table is set, Virgil has almost forgotten his doubts and fears again.

When they were out shopping, Turk suggested they get a bottle of wine to go with their first attempted home-made dinner, despite the fact that they’re both of them more into drinking beer, and Virgil had thought, why not, so they got two bottles, and now Turk is opening the first one and for some reason this whole evening, the set-up, the smell of food, the set table, the anticipation in the air, it just feels like a date, a very serious, by-the-book date and it makes Virgil feel all jittery and excited.

Turk pours wine into the two glasses and hands him one.

They knock their glasses together gently, eyes locked the entire time, even when they take the first sip. And Virgil thinks he knows what’s going on, what this whole thing is about, but he doesn’t really dare to hope either.

He should just say something, get it out in the open right now, otherwise he’ll never be able to relax tonight, he thinks.

He looks down.

The wine is red. It kind of looks like blood. He swirls it around a little in the glass, like you’re supposed to do, and he licks his lips, steels himself.

“We don’t have to talk about it”, Turk interrupts him.

Virgil looks up again. Turk gives a half-shrug, but he also gives a half-smile, so Virgil knows it’s more to do with being nervous than not caring. He doesn’t want to talk about it either, but…

“I kinda need to know.”

Turk puts his glass down on the table behind him, then folds his arms across his chest, and looking down at the floor between their feet he nods.

He’s scared too, Virgil realises then, and somehow the thought is comforting. But he still can’t really get the words out. He feels really stupid all of the sudden. His cheeks heat up slightly, and he hopes his brother doesn’t look up, because he knows he’s blushing, and Turk will definitely tease him about it later.

“We’re- this is- …Right?” is all he gets out in the end.

“Okay”, Turk says, and of course he looks up. “I don’t actually read minds, you want to talk about it, you’re gonna have to talk.”

“It’s been a year.”

“Right”, Turk agrees and looks down again.

“And that’s why you wanted to stay in, and cook, and stuff?”

Turk shrugs again, and then he nods, and then he shrugs one more time. Virgil feels the knot in his chest untying completely.

“So this is our first anniversary”, he says.

He knows Turk can hear the smile on his voice because he starts smiling himself, even before he looks up and sees it.

“Well you don’t have to be such a girl about it”, he says.

“Right”, Virgil says.


	20. The morning after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil’s pushed away from the doorframe and killed the distance between them before Turk’s even reached his arm out towards him, and then he’s got an armful of Virgil, all eager and strong, lean limbs wrapping themselves all around him, pushing close, like he’s trying to burrow into Turk... It's the morning after celebrating their first anniversary together. Virgil gets a phone call from Danny, telling him about a new job, but when he goes to wake Turk up and tell him about it, he gets a little distracted. (Turk POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is definitely NC-17. Pure sex. The twincestuous kind. Be warned.

He wakes up with a pool of sunlight directly on his face and rolls over on his side to evade some of it. He reaches out for his lover, but the other side of the bed is empty. Raising his head a little, he squints towards it and can just about make out the blurry form of Virgil’s pillow and the somewhat straightened covers, and he concludes that since the other man’s made his bed, he’s probably not coming back to it.

Putting his head back down, Turk groans into the mattress.

“Oh, you’re awake…”

Virgil’s voice trickles in through the doorway behind him, much to chipper for Turk’s liking. And knowing that there’s no way his brother is going to let him go back to sleep, he rolls onto his back again and squints at him through the cobwebs in his eyes. Virgil’s bright smile comes into focus, he’s leaning casually in the doorway, shoulder propped against the frame, arms loosely crossed in front of him, hip jutting out. Turk swallows and clears his throat a little.

“Hey”, he rasps out. “You’ve got this all wrong, man… we’re supposed to sleep in.”

Virgil’s smile widens a little, and Turk watches his gaze travel over his body as he stretches it, and finds it easier to smile back all of the sudden, sleep falling away from him, layer by layer, until it’s the last thing on his mind.

“Phone rang, woke me up”, Virgil explains.

“Yeah? Was it Bobo? Was he pissed?”

Virgil shakes his head slightly, but his mind seems to be elsewhere and Turk stretches a little more, just to see that sheen in his lover’s eyes, that look that’s cloudy and bright all at the same time. Virgil licks his lips, obviously unaware of doing it, which makes it even better.

“C’mere…” Turk murmurs.

Virgil’s pushed away from the doorframe and killed the distance between them before Turk’s even reached his arm out towards him, and then he’s got an armful of Virgil, all eager and strong, lean limbs wrapping themselves all around him, pushing close, like he’s trying to burrow into Turk, hands gripping, kneeding, rubbing, everywhere at once, and it takes Turk’s breath away. Or maybe that’s Virgil too. Sucking on his tongue like it’s a cone of his favourite ice cream, humming into his mouth, the vibrations of it echoing through Turk’s head until he’s lost all sense of time and space. All he knows is this heat. Everywhere, just heat, and spurts of electricity travelling between them.

Pulling his face back, panting, Virgil pins him down with an intense look, like he’s checking to make sure he’s still there or something. He does that sometimes, and Turk can’t really figure it out, and he never knows what Virgil expects from him in those moments, but he can tell it’s important, whatever it is, and he looks back, tries to pour all his love and devotion and warmth into that one eye lock, tries to look his most reassuring, self-assured and confident. Tries to be as open as he possible can, and just let’s Virgil soak it all up and take from it what he needs. And then Virgil gets a spark in his eyes and he smiles, and Turk knows he’s found it, whatever it was that he needed from him, and then they’re kissing again, Virgil even more passionate, desperate, hungry, if that’s even possible. Moaning, gasping, slurping, possibly mumbling things that Turk swallows down before they can shape into actual words.

Turk pulls at the waistband of his brother’s sweatpants, grunting into the kiss. Virgil breaks away and starts kissing down his neck, as he lifts his hips to allows Turk to keep pulling on them until their’s down by his knees and then he kicks them all the way off. He tangles his legs with Turk‘s, lining up his hips against his, their cocks brushing together.

“Ohh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck”, Virgil pants breathlessly, his voice quivering as he keeps babbling. “You feel fucking amazing. Can’t believe how amazing you feel, how well we fit together, I never want to stop this, ever, I just want, ahh, fuck, I just wanna stay like this, feel you, all of you, like…”

Turk hisses, tugs on the t-shirt that Virgil’s still wearing. “Off”, he grumbles.

Virgil makes a soft noise of impatience, but leans away long enough to pull the shirt off, then he wraps himself around Turk again, all but melts into him, and this time the sensation is almost overwhelming. Soft, naked skin, sliding over his. A fine layer of sweat slicking them together. Soft hairs grazing, nipples tickling, hands roaming everywhere. His brother’s voice slithering around him like a soft blanket, breathy words of love and lust, mingling together into a sweaty, quivering stream of nonsense.

Turk reaches down to cup his Virgil’s arse, and is rewarded by a particularly loud moan that vibrates through his entire chest, since Virgil’s busy mouthing his right nipple at the time, and then he hoists him up, on top of himself, until he’s straddling him and they grind their crotches together. Turk feels Virgil shiver throughout his entire body.

“Oh fuck, Turk…”

“Yeah”, Turk pants. “You wanna?”

Virgil pushes his face into the crook of his neck and moans, the sound of it almost broken. Turk lets his hands travel up his back and wraps them around him, hugging him close. And he nuzzles the side of his face, inhaling as he burrows his nose into his brother’s hair, savouring that scent, that special Virgil smell, lets it cloud his senses until all he knows is Virgil, and this.

Virgil is trembling, and Turk knows this is a good thing, it usually means he’s doing something right, but his brotherly instincts kick in anyway, and he gently pets him, whispering soothing words to him like he’s afraid or sad, when nothing could be further from the truth. But for some reason, it seems to make his brother happy that he does, because he always hugs back and when he kisses him, it’s not rushed or desperate anymore. But gentle, deep kisses, loving kisses. And those are the best kind.

“Come on, baby…” he murmurs. “Fuck me.”

“Yeah?” Virgil rasps out and leans back to look into his face again, eyes searching. “You sure?”

Turk grins at the question, always the same question, and he nods, bumping his nose against Virgil’s nose. Earning a crinkled little smile in return. He pushes his hips up again, their cocks rubbing together, and he feels his brother shiver, those eyes boring into his darken even more, they’re almost black now, and for a moment he goes slightly crazy thinking he could fall in and get lost forever.

“You’re not sore from last night?” Virgil insists.

“I’m okay”, Turk reassures him. “Really. Come on, I wanna feel you… please.”

It’s the ‘please’ that does it. As Turk knew it would. Virgil ducks his head back down and kisses him, like he’s devouring him, as he unwraps his legs from Turk’s waist and lets him spread his, then he slides in between them, thighs pushing against the back of thighs, and Turk pulls his knees up and reaches for the lube on the bedside table. Virgil trails a few kisses down the side of his face, then bends down to leave a mark on the side of his neck and Turk chuckles.

“You know I’m gonna have to cover it up…”

Virgil just grunts in reply and he chuckles again.

“Just saying… kinda defeats the purpose of branding me, doesn’t it…”

Virgil looks up and stares at him then. He’s got his stubborn look on, and sure enough, “No, it doesn’t.”

And that’s that, Turk thinks to himself. End of argument. He just smiles fondly, though, and nods. He likes to tease, but he knows that his brother needs the reassurance, the reminder, constantly. Knows he’ll over think things otherwise and work himself into a fretting bundle of doubt.

Turk cups his face with one hand and brushes his thumb along his cheek bone. Instinctively, Virgil moves into the caress. Like a cat getting petted, Turk muses and feels that fuzzy warmth in his chest grow a little. Virgil turns his head and gives Turk’s palm a gently kiss. And all of the sudden, this isn’t just one of those rare, but still familiar good mornings of sleeping in and then having great morning sex, anymore. It’s not even about sex at all, well, maybe a little bit, Turk relents, but it’s much more than that. And from the soft look in his lover’s eyes, he knows he feels the same.

Turk knows that this is where he should tell Virgil that he loves him, actually he should have told him that last night, was going to, so many times, throughout the entire night, it was constantly on the tip of his tongue, but he just couldn’t push them out. He should have told him, wanted to tell him, but for some reason the words got stuck behind his teeth somehow. They’re still there.

“Me too”, Virgil says then, a secretive little smile flickering by.

“Wh-what?”

Virgil just keeps smiling and grabs the lube from his other hand. He gives him one more look, to see if Turk’s sure and when he nods, there’s no more hesitation.

Virgil rubs some lube between his hands, like he’s washing them or something, but Turk knows it’s to warm it up. Then he puts one of his hands between Turk’s legs and the other on himself, slicking himself up as he gently pushing a couple of fingers into Turk. Multi-tasking, Turk thinks vaguely, amused and impressed, then he sucks in a breath as those fingers push deeper. The gasp quickly turns into a moan, though, when Virgil’s fingertips starts dabbing at that spot, that sweet spot inside of him, and he bites down on his lip, hard.

“Careful”, Virgil murmurs and leans forward to lick a soothing trail across Turk’s bottom lip.

“…Mmm ready, please, in me, now”, Turk pants.

Virgil carefully withdraws his fingers and positions the head of his cock at the entrance instead, gently, slowly, he pushes in. Fingers sticky with lube graze Turk’s thigh, trail up his belly and chest, before wrapping around his arms, bringing them closer, always closer.

Turk lifts his knees higher, then wrap his legs around Virgil’s hips and drag him closer still, drawing him all the way in, and Virgil shudders on top and inside of him.

Turk’s got his arms and legs wrapped tightly around Virgil, just the way he knows Virgil likes it, likes having him close enough to be smothered by him.

“You’re so beautiful”, Virgil rasps out.

By the sound of his voice and the looks of his expression, Turk would think the words hurt him on the way out, and he knows that feeling, that love and that electricity, so powerful and strong it swallows you whole and squeezes you tight until all you feel is rushing blood and pounding heat and pins and needles everywhere.

“Fuck me”, he gasps, hugging his legs tighter around Virgil’s hips.

“Ah fuck”, Virgil breathes out. “You have no idea what you do to me…”

Carefully he pulls out, almost entirely, then slams back in, angling his hips so that he’s pushing against that spot with every thrust, finding a rhythm of broken rhythms, he starts moving.

Turk gasps as that spot starts to shoot sparks all through his body, nervous system firing up like a Christmas tree, fireworks under his skin, stars behind his eyes. He’s vaguely aware of his brother’s voice, all frantic and soothing at the same time, words dripping with lust, dirty and raw, loving and sweet, all mixed together, until he’s barely putting words together at all and it’s just a chorus of moans and screams and grunts and groans and hisses.

There’s banging somewhere in the distance, but Turk can’t really place it and all that electricity in his body, all those bright, tickling stars, they start to pool in his abdomen, his balls draw tight with tension, the building orgasm sucking everything else in, until the whole world’s faded away and there’s just this. Heat and pleasure. The hands on his arm loosen their bruising grip and disappear. Virgil’s body stretches, as he grabs onto the head board and draws his knees up under Turk, pushing deeper and harder, and yeah, he’s screaming now, words again, but Turk’s too far gone to make any sense out of them, he can feel Virgil’s entire body trembling and knows he’s close as well.

Then, out of the string of words, one drops down and hits Turk in the head, “love”, and it goes black for a second and pleasure almost painful washes over him.

Virgil shouts out his own orgasm, then collapses, half on top of Turk, half next to him, until Turk scoops him into his arms and cradles him to his chest. They lay there, panting together. Turk’s vaguely aware of Virgil’s come seeping out of him, and his own pooling on his belly, not entirely pleasant, but not really off-putting either. And then he realizes that he just came without touching himself. And then remembers Virgil telling him he loves him. He sighs and hugs his brother even closer, and imagines he hears him purr in response.

“I think we disturbed the neighbours…” Virgil mumbles.

“That’s what that was…” Turk says, not entirely bothered, it’s not like it’s the first time.

“Mmm… touchy bitches”, Virgil mutters, half-asleep by the sound of it, and Turk chuckles.

“Yeah… fuck, but that was amazing, babe… Virgil?”

“Mmm…”

“That was possibly the best sex we’ve ever had.”

“Mmmm-hm…”

“Are falling asleep on me?”

“Mm not on you…”

Turk smiles to himself and pets his brother’s hair, it’s slightly damp now, and tousled. He plays with it for a minute, combing his fingers through it.

“I love you too”, he says.

He can tell Virgil’s heard him, because he can feel his body tense up slightly, and then he’s raising his head from Turk’s chest and meets his gaze, eyes half-lidded, cheeks rosy, and Turk swallows, restraining himself from pulling him into another kiss and orchestrating a repeat of the whole thing.

“I know”, Virgil smiles.

“Yeah, I know you know, but I still wanted to say it…”

Virgil just smiles.

“Hey, who was that on the phone this morning? You said it wasn’t Bobo?”

“Oh yeah…” Virgil remembers and shakes his head slightly. “That was Danny. He’s got another job for us. An easy one, this time, or so he says… I said I’d call him back after I’d talked to you about it, but it seems like a good deal, I think we should do it…”

“Alright”, Turk says.

“I’ll tell you all about it over breakfast, or brunch more like… we’ll have to reheat the pancakes now, though.”

“Pancakes?”

“Yeah”, Virgil says and grins at him. “I made you breakfast.”

“Really?” Turk says.

He‘s aware that he’s perked up like a kid on Christmas, or like puppy at the sight of a ball held up teasingly above him, and by the way Virgil laughs a little as he nods, he knows he’s thought the same thing, or something similar at least.

“We should probably hit the shower first, though…” he says then.

Turk looks down to see him drag a finger through the sticky mess on Turk’s belly, like he’s finger painting with it, and it’s oddly arousing.

“Yeah”, he agrees.

“You hop in first, and I’ll go put the pancakes in the oven”, Virgil says and starts to pull away.

But Turk grabs him and then rolls him over onto his back, trapping him under his own weight.

“Uh-uh…” he says. “Shower together…”

Virgil chuckles, no giggles, then. Shaking his head at him, but stretching sensually underneath him at the same time, teasing.

“You’re insatiable.”

“Just with you”, Turk retorts. “Can’t get enough of you, just you.”

Virgil drags his hands up and down Turk’s back and arches up a little, rubbing their bodies together, as he playfully nips at his lower lip, eyes darkening again already.

“Okay, let’s go…” he whispers.

“Hey”, Turk says, almost as an afterthought as he follows Virgil into the bathroom. “How come you didn’t bring the pancakes when you came to wake me up? You know, it‘s called ‘breakfast in bed‘ for a reason…”

Virgil snorts.

“Yeah right, like I’m gonna let you spill coffee and crumbs all over our bed… I said I made you breakfast, there was no mention of a bed in that sentence.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be continued. I have at least two more chapters lined up before I wrap up this fic. I'm just really swamped right now, so I don't know when I'll get around to it, but the idea is for Turk and Virgil to "come out" to Danny and the others before the end.


	21. Slowly coming out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casual contact. Reassurance in gestures. So familiar to them now, Virgil isn’t sure how they’re going to remember to stop it when they’re working.

Title: Coming out - the epilogue  
Chapter 3 -   
Fandom: Ocean’s eleven (Post-Ocean’s 13)  
Pairing: Virgil/Turk (slash)  
Rating:   
Chapter Summary:   
A/N: This is chapter three of the epilogue of the Driving me crazy ‘Verse (which includes all three movies - although the epilogue is set after the third movie)

\---

CHAPTER THREE -

 

They all sprawl out around the room. Danny plops down in a chair facing the rest of them, and Rusty just ambles around in the background, stopping occasionally and striking what could only be described as a pose. They debrief the crew in their usual fashion, finishing each other’s sentences and smirking like they know the secrets of the universe, glancing at each other ever so often to confirm that they, and they alone share those secrets. During one of his poses, Virgil catches Rusty looking over at Turk, who’s standing behind Virgil‘s armchair with his arms leaning against the top of it, and his smirk widens into a grin.

He’s fucking leering, Virgil thinks to himself.

He casually leans to the side in the armchair and then tilts his head back so that he can see Turk, so that he can see if he’s watching Rusty at all. It’s not that he’s jealous, really, just curious. Curious to see what could have made Rusty grin like an idiot, not that he usually needs a reason for that, he thinks. But Turk’s not watching Rusty, he’s looking right back at Virgil when he glances up at him, and when their eyes lock, Turk gives him the tiniest wink.

Virgil rights himself in his seat again and looks down to hide his smile, as well as the potential blush that he can feel sneak up on him. And when Turk’s arm brushes his hair when he shifts a little behind him, Virgil forgets all about Rusty, and the stupid lollipop that he’s enjoying way too much. Okay, so maybe he doesn’t forget all about him, Virgil thinks and glances over at him again. This time, Rusty’s looking at him, not Turk. Still grinning, though. Still with that lollipop shoved into his cheek and his eyes twinkling.

“Any other questions?” Danny asks.

When there are none, Danny starts to delegate the different steps to the operation and send them on their way and tells them to meet up again in two hours. Virgil hoists himself to his feet and fall into step with Turk to go set up the spy cameras in the target’s room down the hall. Halfway there, he remembers leaving his bag on the floor by the arm chair, though.

“I’ll get it”, Turk says, letting his hand graze Virgil’s chest.

“Yeah?” Virgil says, to stall more than anything, and lets his own hand brush Turk’s arm as the hand slides away again.

Casual contact. Reassurance in gestures. So familiar to them now, Virgil isn’t sure how they’re going to remember to stop it when they’re working. It’s different at home. With their family and their friends they can get away with a lot, fingers interlacing briefly under table tops, knees bumping together, Turk casually draping his arm over the backrest and when Virgil then casually leans back, it’s almost like their holding each other, except no-one else sees it that way, because they don’t notice the small things, the little details that mean everything, but are almost impossible to catch.

But Ocean’s eleven, that’s different. These guys have made a career out of noticing the small things, they know that the details mean everything and how to read a poker face and listen to what’s said between the lines.

“Yeah”, Turk says, but he doesn’t move away, not yet.

He reaches a hand up and curls it around Virgil’s neck, pulling gently. Virgil licks his lips and glances down the hallway. It’s empty. They’re practically alone. He sighs and leans down to capture Turk’s lips with his own, keeping the kiss shallow and safe, but loving all the same, lingering. Turk smiles into it and even hums a little. Virgil smiles as well, even as he hushes him.

“Go get the bag”, he says.

“Alright. You get the lock…”

He gives Virgil another lingering look, then nods and starts walking back down the hall, feeling his lover’s hungry eyes on him and barely resists putting his hands in his back pockets. Can’t help but to swagger a little more than usual as he walks though.

“Oh man…” Rusty’s voice trickles out into the hall.

Turk can hear the amusement in his voice and he slows down his steps and stops just outside the doorway to listen.

“Did you see that?” Danny murmurs.

“Oh yeah…”

“So you really think that-”

“Oh yeah.”

“What are you guys talking about now”, Reuben interrupts. “Come on, could you at least keep the telepathy to a minimum when other people are around, it’s rude…”

“Turk and-”

“Virgil”, Rusty finishes.

Turk feels his heart trip up a little and quickly glances back down the hall, to see if Virgil‘s still there, if he‘s noticed him stopping, but he must’ve worked the door fast, because the hallway is empty.

“What about them?” Basher asks.

“It’s finally happened”, Danny says.

“Noo”, Basher exclaims. “Are you sure? How’d you know?”

“Body language, looks, the whole package…” Rusty says. “And…”

“And”, Danny agrees.

“And what?” Reuben insists.

“Turk didn’t sit down”, Rusty says, the grin audible in his voice.

Turk looks down and takes a deep breath. He’s not sure how he should be reacting. He doesn’t mind his friends talking about him like this, as long as they’re cool about it and they seem to be, from what he can tell just listening to what they’re saying and the tone in their voices.

“Right on”, Basher exclaims then and confirms it.

But at the same time, Turk knows that if it’d been Virgil coming back to get the bag and he’d been the one to overhear this conversation, it’d be a whole different story. His brother is sensitive, always has been, even when they were kids, he was always throwing little hissy fits and pouting and crying, which is why Turk started calling him a girl in the first place. But with this stuff, with their relationship, he’s beyond sensitive. The smallest thing will make him panic, he’s completely paranoid and always over-analysing, second guessing, worrying. Something like this would most likely cause a minor panic attack, and that’s what has Turk hesitating.

He knows he should tell him, but he also knows he won’t. He won’t be able to bring himself to cause that pain, all that fear and doubt. He just wants to keep him happy, always. Wants to keep him reassured and safe.

“I don’t get it”, Linus speaks up for the first time. “What are you guys talking about?”

There’s a long pause, and Turk realizes that the others must be unsure of Linus reaction, or they wouldn’t hesitate to let him in on the secret.

“What about Turk and Virgil?” Linus insists.

“They’ve…” Danny trails off, obviously waiting for Rusty to jump in, and obviously Rusty isn’t all that eager to this time, so he continues on his own. “possibly… taken their relationship… to the next level.”

“What does that mean?”

Rusty chuckles a little. Reuben clears his throat.

“What?” Linus says again. “What am I missing?”

“Common sense?” Basher suggests.

“Ha-ha”, Linus retorts. “Seriously, guys, come on… why do you always have to be like this, you’re always treating me like a kid, like the newbie, still wet behind the ears, what do I have to do to prove myself to you guys, come on…”

“Linus”, Danny murmurs. “What do you want us to say?”

“I want in, on the information, on the terminology, on everything-”

“It’s not a term”, Rusty cuts him off. “They’ve literally-”

“Possibly”, Danny interjects.

“Taken their relationship to the next level. As in…”

“What?” Linus says again. “They’re going steady?”

He laughs at his own joke, but no-one else does.

Turk feels a little faint. The possibility of keeping this from Virgil is getting smaller and smaller. And now it looks like Linus is going to have a problem with it.

That means that Virgil is going to have a problem with Linus, and with the others, and with the relationship and every other little thing that makes him insecure, all the little misunderstandings from the past, all the arguments, all the doubt and fear, it will all come simmering up to the surface once again, and there will panic and drama and doors slammed.

Turk swallows a sigh and leans his forehead against the wall for a moment. Steeling himself.

“You’re not serious”, Linus says. “B-but they’re… they’re…”

“You know what”, Danny interrupts then, his business voice. “It’s really none of our business.”

“You’re right”, Rusty agrees in his best con voice. “I shouldn’t have brought it up, that was unprofessional.”

“It’s fine”, Danny all but soothes him. “We all know how you like to gossip. But let’s get back to work, shall we…”

“No, wait”, Linus splutters. “Just hang on, you guys are having me on, right? Right?”

Turk takes a deep breath and enters the room then, all grins and hands clapping together.

“The tall one left his purse”, he quips and jogs over to the arm chair to grab the bag with the surveillance equipment.

“You all set?” Danny asks.

“Virg’s got the room unlocked, we’ll have this”, he holds up the bag. “up and running in about thirty.”

“Alright, awesome”, Danny says, then turns to Basher. “What do you need?”

Turk jogs out of the room again, and keeps jogging all the way down the hall.

He’s still debating with himself over whether or not to tell Virgil about the conversation he’s overheard ten minutes later, when Virgil snaps his fingers in front of his face to get his attention. Turk scowls and bats his hand away.

“What’s going on?” Virgil says.

“Nothing”, Turk replies before he can think about it.

He can tell when the tension in Virgil’s shoulders and neck and jaw slams into place, even as he nods and smiles and seemingly drops it, and Turk knows that his mind is already running wild with fear and possibilities, and he sighs.

“Alright… I have to tell you something.”

Virgil keeps staring at him, and if he didn’t know him so well, Turk would think he was calmly waiting for him to finish. But he does know him so well. And he notices the spark in his eyes, and the way his nostrils flare a little, and he knows he’s panicking already.

“Hey”, he says and moves to slide his arms around his waist. “Stop that, it’s nothing serious…”

“Yeah?” Virgil says. “Since when do you lie about stuff that’s not serious?”

Looking down, Turk sighs again. He takes a step back, but makes sure to keep his hands on his brother’s waist, his thumbs rubbing slow and soothing circles on his belly.

“When I went to get the bag, I… overheard the guys talking…”

“About us?”

“Yeah…”

“How bad?”

“It’s not that bad, really… It was Danny and Rusty who put the pieces together, go figure… and they were all really cool with it.”

“Really”, Virgil mutters.

“Well, not all, exactly… Linus seemed to be a bit freaked… but the others were cool, I swear.”

Virgil doesn’t say anything for a moment. Turk steps in closer again and hugs him. He’s all tense and stiff in his arms, but he gingerly puts his arms around Turk and returns the hug. Then slowly, he starts to relax again.

“Okay”, he sighs, like a decision has been made.

“Okay?”

“Yeah…” Virgil murmurs.

Then he surprises Turk by cupping his face and giving him a kiss.

“Thanks for telling… now, help me with these wires…”

Turk feels winded all of the sudden, his mind reeling. He watches his brother closely for any sign of silent panic, but he seems genuinely okay.

“You can’t be”, he mutters.

Virgil doesn’t ask him to elaborate, just hands him one end of the wires that have gotten tangled. Turk untangles them on auto-pilot, then hands them back. His fingers brush Virgil’s, and then Virgil grabs his entire hand, squeezes it gently. It’s a gesture of reassurance.

“I’m not”, he murmurs and meets his gaze again. “But we’ll deal with it later.”

Turk squeezes the hand back and nods slightly. His brother smiles a little then. It’s faint, barely there at all, but his face softens with it, and Turk knows what it means. It’s another gesture, another reassurance that tells him that even though the situation might not be, they are okay. Turk knows he shouldn’t need that reassurance, since nothing would suggest that they wouldn’t be, he shouldn’t but he gladly accepts it. His brother might be the sensitive, over-analysing one in this relationship, but Turk needs the reassurance just as much sometimes. Sometimes even more.


End file.
